


Between Starshine and Clay

by martialartist816



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, I Am Number Four AU, Light Angst, M/M, POV Third Person, SHEITH - Freeform, Slow Burn, Smut, Superpowers, Team Bonding, aliens in hiding, aliens on earth, alternative universe, background allurance, brief mention of past shiro/adam - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2019-12-06 21:06:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 74,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18225425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martialartist816/pseuds/martialartist816
Summary: The plan was to grow, and train, and become strong, and become one, and fight. But they were found and became the hunted. Now they are all running. Spending their lives in shadows, in places where no one would look, blending in. They have lived among humans without detection.There are six of them in total, each assigned a number. They can be killed only in the order of their number, and that order alone.Keith is Number Two.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY welcome to my I Am Number Four AU that nobody asked for! This story follows the premise of the book, but not the plot, so you don't have to know anything about I Am Number Four to know what's going on in here.
> 
> If you feel like it, [please check out the playlist I made for this fic](https://open.spotify.com/user/69ntcys5bbtukam05cr7d0hrd/playlist/5SUyffYDiaeODPal5pgB3f?si=VaUYrSAfRnGtdUC1GYptNg). I've also never used Spotify before so please let me know if something's not working.
> 
> Thanks for stopping by!

The sky is on fire.

Burning orange and yellow paint the clouds with angry, hot watercolor. The sun’s energy radiates through the ozone, sending ripples of mirages dancing off the desert sand. The light and the heat of the day are a result of the nuclear fission bubbling at the core of a star millions of miles away, yet everything around Keith is still, like the sky and the clouds and the sun are nothing but a painting draped over the Earth. The sand is warm when Keith gathers it into a fist. There’s no wind to kick up the dust as it slides from his palm and back down to the ground, falling in a straight line like the trickling of an hourglass.

Beyond the burning sky is a galaxy, deep blue that mirrors the darkest depths of a vast ocean. The stars, little shards of crystal sew into the navy silk, stand out brilliantly from the dark.

Beyond the burning sky is home.

“Did the stars look like this back on Altea?” Keith asks.

Krolia—his mother, his protector, his only family on this lonely planet—answers from her spot next to him on the porch. “Yes and no. The constellations were different. But just as magnificent to behold.”

“You don’t think they look less magical after everything that’s happened?” Keith grasps the necklace that dangles right in front of his heart. Rogue particles of sand stick to his skin and press even deeper at the pressure from his grip on the metal.

“The universe’s beauty is unbiased as to where and when it reveals itself,” Krolia says. “Just because one race of people saw fit to destroy us doesn’t mean everything that exists is evil.”

“It’s hard to think of things like beauty when my days are numbered,” Keith says, no bitterness in his tone. It is simply a fact of his life that he’s known since he was a child, what little he remembers from it. He brings the necklace up to his face, the pendant resting against his open palm and weighing a hundred pounds. Thy symbol on the front of it is, from what Krolia has told him, the Altean number two.

“Keith.” Krolia’s voice is tight. She forces him to look at her with a hand on his cheek. “Your days are not numbered.”

They’ve had this conversation tons of times already. It never changes, no matter how old Keith gets. He hates that he makes his own mother look so hurt like that. But facing the music has always been wiser that turning the stereo down and pretending it isn’t on, right? It’s how he copes.

“Fate decided that already. It’s why I was born different, isn’t it? You told me so yourself.”

“The only thing fate has in store for you is greatness. _That_ is what I told you,” she asserts.

Keith’s head hangs back down. His fingers curl around the edge of the porch, wood smooth from years of the erosion of sand being thrown and scraped against it. He watches as his toes wiggle their way under the cooling sand.

“I won’t get a chance to be great. My gift hasn’t shown itself yet. If Number One is my age and hasn’t gotten their gift either, then they’re going down pretty fast. And then I’m next. I’m Number Two,” Keith recites.

This mantra is what Krolia has drilled into his head ever since the day their planet was annihilated. The intruders came, they conquered, and they vowed to see the end of the Altean race. Keith and five other families—five other Numbers—were allowed to escape before they were hurt. It was because they were born special, like Krolia says. Keith and his counterparts are destined to be the saviors of a planet that’s now in ashes, which is laughably ironic. Now they’re stranded on an alien planet, cast into a life of hiding because the Galra are still after them. The gifted children will be killed—one by one, as cruel fate dictates, from Number One to Number Six.

Keith never liked his odds.

“You don’t need a chance because you already are great,” Krolia says. As she stands, she presses a kiss to the top of Keith’s head and squeezes his shoulder. “I think the chili is ready if you want some.”

He follows her like a magnet, knowing what it feels like to be at the mercy of the desert after the sun has set. The sea of endless sand can be lonelier than the entire universe sometimes.

At the sound of people entering the house, Kosmo lifts his head from where he sleeps on the kitchen rug. Kosmo looks like any other dog, some kind of wolf, husky, shepherd mix by Earth standards. They're all lucky that the planet they landed on isn't so different from the one they once knew. Alteans look exactly like humans, they walk like them, they talk like them, and as far as the humans know at all, they are them. Kosmo blends in well, but like his owners, he hides a secret. Kosmo is one of the last relics that Keith and Krolia have from Altea. He was with them when they fled the dying planet, and he will always remain by their side. He is one special dog, indeed.

Krolia’s cooking has gotten better over the years. With no Altean ingredients at her disposal, she taught herself the recipes of humanity using nothing but her own keen instincts for survival and a wonderful invention called Pinterest. They live humbly—their little family of two—in a shack in the desert that Krolia found after their last move about four years ago. They’ve been all over the country, first living amongst humans in more densely populated areas in order to learn their ways. Once Krolia got a hold of their bare essentials (two smartphones, two passports and driver’s licenses with fake names, and a good understanding of how to blend in), they kept moving to more and more secluded locations until they wound up here. The abandoned house sat in the middle of a desert with dry summers and prickly plants dotting the landscape. They squat just far enough to be away from it all, not even a blip on the map. Krolia loves this location because the military base to their east provides extra protection. If the Galra want to get close, they’d have to find a way to fly under the Galaxy Garrison’s advanced radars.

When Krolia takes the lid off the three-gallon pot, steam and the wonderful aroma of garlic and spices waft across the room. Keith eats it straight from the ladle, ignoring Krolia’s warning that it’s still too hot. Stuff like that never bothered him.

They sit at the table and dine like an American family. Keith likes cooking with his mother. Long, arduous days in the shack would drive him crazy without distractions; he spends the hours working out, tinkering with the antique motorbike he found in the back of the shack, scrolling through social media, reading, or concocting new creations in the kitchen with his mother. The social media and the books—his only connections to the rest of the world—give him only a taste of what his life could be like, free of fear, free of wondering if he’s going to make it to tomorrow.

That’s why Keith loves being a student at the Galaxy Garrison.

He appreciates the hell out of every day he gets to go to class. Krolia never liked the idea of Keith going to school, let alone a military school, but he used that point to his advantage. It had been a whole battle and a half to get her to just hear him out when he came to her with the idea two years ago. Eventually, Keith convinced her that going to the Garrison would effectively put him under the safest roof in the country. Galra would have to go through the force of the entire United States Military before they got to him. Combat training was just a nice bonus of that, and one of Keith’s favorite parts. Krolia warned him that he was much stronger and faster than humans, and they would notice if his skills showed during his studies. So, with the promise to lay low and return home every night instead of dorming, Keith was granted permission to enroll.

During dinner, Keith’s phone pings. Krolia halts mid-chew to tilt her chin up and read the text on his screen. Keith picks up his phone and opens the full message.

“It’s just Shiro,” he promises, and she relaxes. “He’s coming by to drop off more groceries.” He types out a quick _Door’s open_ before scooping the rest of the chili into his mouth.

Krolia places their used bowls in the sink and peeks into the pantry. “I hope he brings more rice. We’re almost out.”

Her fingers wrap around the handle of a blade that she always wears at her hip. The hilt holds a radiant amethyst jewel that wouldn’t take more than one glance to know it isn’t from Earth. The compact weapon is one of the few things they have left from Altea, and it’s more valuable to them than anything. Krolia stowes the knife behind a couch cushion just before the rumbling sound of an engine approaches and comes to a stop outside their home.

Shiro walks in the front door with a parcel bag hanging off each wrist. His smile brings in the brightness and warmth of the setting sun outside, and he inhales.

“Hey, guys,” he greets. “Smells delicious in here.”

Krolia goes to him and helps carry the bags to the kitchen counter. She unpacks the items with eager speed, and a smile comes to soften the lines around her mouth when she pulls out a package of white rice. “Help yourself to some dinner, please.”

“If you don’t mind…” Shiro says, leaning over the still-warm pot and licking his lips.

Kosmo nudges Shiro’s hand with his nose, earning him gratuitous head scratches in return.

“Take as much as you want,” Keith offers. “She made enough to feed the entire Garrison.”

With a light laugh, Shiro takes a bowl for himself and fills it to his heart’s content. Krolia busies herself by putting groceries away, happily not talking. She’s always polite around Shiro—he’s pretty much the only human she trusts to have around, to be friends with Keith—but she tends to go quiet around him. Keith is left to sit there in the silence between rustling boxes and Shiro’s chewing.

It’s a happy kind of silence, though. Shiro’s presence grows their little family by one. Keith likes to pretend this is how they have always been, and always will be.

After dinner, Keith ventures into the lonely desert and doesn’t have to feel so small with his best friend accompanying him. Shiro suggests going for a ride, and Keith agrees without a moment’s hesitation.

“Should you let your mom know?” Shiro asks, gesturing to Keith’s house.

He glances over his shoulder. The front door is closed. He knows Krolia is still in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes and putting leftovers away. She hates when he goes out with Shiro, especially since she doesn’t know where they ride off to or how long they’ll be gone. If Keith asks, she’ll say no.

“No,” he answers, deciding to postpone the same ass-kicking, ear-bleeding lecture he always gets when he sneaks out without telling Krolia until he gets home. “Can I drive?”

Shiro grins and takes the back seat on his bike. Keith revs the engine and kicks off the ground before Krolia can even rush out the door.

The hoverbike is nothing like Keith’s dinky little motorbike. This thing is much faster. It’s built for evasive maneuvers, and it’s got a moxy that Keith finds addicting. He pushes the limits of it’s speed, it’s torque, and Shiro says nothing but laughs along with Keith’s daring enthusiasm, arms wrapped securely around his waist.

All traces of the sun have vanished by the time Keith finishes his joy ride. The Milky Way stretches above the sky like a rubber band, unpolluted by lights from a city like Keith remembers when they used to live in one. Out here, nothing clouds the fisheye glass of the stratosphere. Keith parks next to a tall, multi-branched cactus and stands to stretch his legs. Shiro slides down to the driver’s seat, dangling both feet over one side. As Shiro takes in the landscape around them, Keith watches his face and the slow path of his eyes.

“Do you believe in aliens?” Shiro asks, still focused on the horizon.

Keith snorts at the question. “No. Do you?”

Shiro smiles. “Yeah.”

A sarcastic, ‘I’d fucking hope so. You’re looking at one,’ teases at Keith’s lips. Shiro would find that joke funny if only he’d be at liberty to tell it.

“I know it’s silly,” Shiro says, “but it’d feel pretty lonely if we were the only ones out here.”

“Maybe that would be a good thing,” Keith muses. “What if the aliens out there are evil, and they want to come and kill us all?”

“I like to think that aliens—if there are any—wouldn’t be all bad.”

“That would be nice,” Keith agrees. How great his life would be if all races got along and didn’t chase him halfway across the universe just to kill him and his people!

Keith digs the toe of his boot into the dirt. He feels Shiro’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t care to look up. He wishes he could read Shiro’s mind, or that Shiro could read his. That way he wouldn’t have to keep up the exhausting front of being normal and just like everyone else. Lying to the entire planet Earth is easy, but lying to his best friend makes his chest hurt. Everything Shiro believes about him is false. Hell, Shiro even has to believe that Keith and his mom are poor and in need of extra groceries. Whenever Keith brings up to Krolia that he wants to ask Shiro to stop spending money on them, her lips get thin, and she sternly reminds him that it’s better to let Shiro think they need help. Better than clueing him in to the fact that they are actual, literal illegal aliens on the run from more actual, literal illegal aliens who are out to destroy them.

Keith hates it, but he tells himself for the millionth time that it’s all for the best.

Besides, if Shiro knew about them, then he’d be in just as much danger as Keith. And that’s the last thing Keith wants.

Keith changes the subject to something else to avoid his own thoughts. They talk about school, about how Shiro is going to be the assistant teacher in his engineering class tomorrow. Keith looks forward to the day even more. Shiro drives Keith back to his house, and it’s gotten significantly cooler out with the disappearance of the sun. Keith clings to Shiro around his waist, face pressed to his broad back, between his shoulder blades. Shiro drives slowly—Keith is grateful for the extended ride—but the breeze still disturbs his hair and chills him. On the last stretch of desert road before the shack, Keith squeezes Shiro one last time.

“You should probably get back to campus,” Keith says after dismounting. “Krolia is a holy terror when I go somewhere without telling her.”

Shiro smiles empathetically. “You gonna be okay in there, or should I send the full force of the Garrison to protect you?”

“I’m fine at holding my own,” Keith promises.

“I know,” Shiro says, revs the engine once. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” and he’s gone before Keith can even raise a hand to wave, speeding down over a hill in the direction of the Garrison.

Keith locks away the memories of his evening with Shiro, bookmarks them along with the rest, takes a breath, and goes for his house prepared for the lecture of a lifetime.

…

Combat takes Keith back to a dark place. When he was young, maybe twelve or thirteen, he saw his first Galran face on Earth. He and Krolia had been living on the top floor apartment in some suburb in a different part of the country. Keith remembers looking out the window and admiring the view from so high. They were so far from the ground. It felt like nothing could touch them up there.

But the air in front of the window began to warp. Keith’s eyes widened as a alien ship materialized right before him. All he could do was stand in terror as the realization that they’d been found slowly kicked in. Had they killed Number One already? How did they find him amongst the thousands of faces in this town?

Krolia tackled him to the floor just before the blast of a weapon shattered their window. A building-wide fire alarm blared in the background, and Keith heard neighbors scrambling in the hallway to get down the stairs. A heavy thud sounded from behind them. Keith rolled out from underneath dust and shattered glass to see a massive figure clad in black kick their door down. They were trapped.

The Galra pointed an alien weapon right at them. It whirred to life, charging and glowing a dark purple. If it was the same kind of blast that destroyed their window like it was made of paper, then Keith and Krolia would be goners after one shot.

Next to him, Krolia shot up and went for the blade at her hip. It doubled in length when her fingers wrapped around it, and she cut down the intruder in their doorway as fast as lightning. Keith remembers Krolia barking at him to get up, there were more coming. Adrenaline coursed through his limbs, enabling him to finally stand on his feet. From there, instinct kicked in.

They ran down the hallway and took the stairs three at a time. Another huge body appeared in their path, and Keith remembers punching as high as he could reach. Despite his small size, he remembers the power behind his attack that sent the Galra flying. It was the first taste of true strength that Keith ever experienced, the first confirmation that he really was different than everyone else.

Somehow, they fought their way through more Galra and won. Keith’s body knew what it was doing, so he listened to its commands and punched and kicked his way to safety. He and Krolia managed to hide in an alleyway. The Galra would have found them quivering and panting for breath had they not been scared away by the sound of approaching police and firemen.

If Keith could fight when he was young and small and inexperienced, then the combat training at the Garrison would make him almost unstoppable. He excelled from day one, quickly surpassing the other students in his age and weight class. Even suppressing his extraterrestrial strength and agility, Keith’s strategic skills catapulted him to near number one in the entire facility.

He’s second only to Shiro.

Shiro challenges Keith every time they spar. It’s never the same, so Keith can never know what move to pull against his opponent. Shiro knows that Keith always sits and thinks before attacking, so he always makes sure the shake it up. Shiro is a big guy, too. His strength is nothing to sneeze at. Once, Keith surfaced just a little bit more of his Altean power, just out of curiosity. But Shiro still out-grappled him, and Keith wound up on his back, having to tap out.

Shiro smirks, sensing Keith’s frustration as they circle each other like two predators.

They’re both sweating, fists raised. Fatigue would overtake Keith if he weren’t so bent on beating Shiro at least once. It’s the same every time.

Keith thinks, ‘Fuck it,’ and lunges. He goes in like he’s about to punch, but he pivots on one foot to swing around for a kick at the last second. Shiro isn’t fast enough to completely counter the move, but he does raise his right arm just in time to block Keith’s shin from connecting with his jaw at the last second. Hitting Shiro feels like hitting a brick wall.

Rather than lose his balance from the kick, Keith easily switches up his positioning and throws his weight forward. The foot he used to kick locks behind one of Shiro’s heels, so when he surges against him, Shiro has no room to back up and trips. Keith goes down with him, but it’s worth the solid thud Shiro makes when he hits the ground and the ‘oof’ rushing out of his lungs.

He ends up straddling Shiro’s waist. The moment ends tragically quickly. Keith is too distracted by his own satisfaction that Shiro plants his feet on the ground and leverages his hips upward, carrying Keith backward like he weighs nothing. His back collides with the floor, and the familiar sight of Shiro blocking out the fluorescent lights floods his vision. Strong, warm hands trap his wrists to the mat. Keith stares into Shiro’s intense eyes as they both catch their breath. He doesn’t want to untangle his legs from around Shiro’s waist, but he lets his feet drop to the floor anyway.

“You’re a beast,” Shiro says.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Keith asks, worrying subconsciously that he accidentally let too much of his alien physiology show during the fight.

Shiro nods. “I’m constantly impressed by how you get better and better every day.” He releases Keith and, same as always, offers his hand to help him up.

Keith slots their clammy palms together and pulls himself up with Shiro as his anchor. Standing, he looks at their hands, and a switch flips from off to on. He moves Shiro’s from his right hand to his left and steps forward. Like a record stuck on repeat, Keith positions himself with one leg behind Shiro’s and pushes. The only difference this time is that Shiro isn’t expecting it. When Shiro lands on his stomach, Keith takes his disorientation as an opportunity to pin him down with his right arm locked behind him.

“Keith, what the hell,” Shiro huffs, staying down but looking over his shoulder. “The fight was over.”

“I never tapped out,” Keith says, and he watches the light go on in Shiro’s head.

“You’re a little shit.” Shiro laughs.

“I thought I was a beast,” Keith reminds him, smiling. “Which is it?”

“Both, probably. Now will you let me up?” Underneath him, Shiro wiggles. It’s just for show, of course. Keith his hardly holding him.

“Only if you admit this match goes to me.”

“Will that make you happy?” Shiro asks.

“Yeah,” Keith says, amused.

“Fine,” Shiro relents, and he taps the mat twice with his left hand. “You got me good. Won’t happen again, though.”

“We’ll see.”

Now it’s Keith’s turn to offer a hand to Shiro. When he stands, they both laugh. Tension drains out of Keith’s body as the adrenaline washes away. These fights calm him, make him feel safe, like he can take anything that’s thrown at him. When he goes home at the end of each day and tells Krolia that he’s getting better at combat, she visibly relaxes. The unspoken conversation that Keith will need these skills against another Galra attack one day floats between them.

In the locker room, Shiro peels off the long-sleeved black shirt he wears for working out. The sweat makes it stick to his skin, bending at the mercy of Shiro’s ridiculous muscles. Keith doesn’t look—he always gives Shiro privacy—until he hears a light laugh.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to tear my shoulder from the socket.”

When Keith turns to look at him, Shiro is rolling his right arm in little circles to alleviate some of the soreness Keith evidently caused.

“Sorry,” Keith mumbles, truly sorry if he’d let too much of his strength come out during the fight. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” he promises. “I might think twice before asking you to be my wrestling partner now.”

Once he’s looking at Shiro, he can’t tear his eyes away. There’s just so much to look at. Whether it’s envy or something else that traps him, Keith’s gaze drags up Shiro’s torso from the waistband of his pants regardless. A tiny glint of light shines from the silver dog tag necklace Shiro always wears. His path ends on Shiro’s flexing right arm, where the tattoo marks up his skin. It’s a simple design, thin black lines spaced randomly down his arm, starting around the middle of his bicep. A few of the other lines circle around the joint of his elbow, his wrist, and around his fingers. Keith never asked him what it meant. He just thought it looked cool.

He remembers the first time he saw the tattoo. The first day he met Shiro.

…

The Galaxy Garrison agreed to take Keith on as a student in exchange for his enrollment into a work program to pay for tuition. He was assigned to custodial duties, and Keith took it without complaint. Krolia didn’t like that working would keep him away from home for longer hours, but it was the only way he’d be allowed to attend class. Keith started his first job when he was sixteen years old, and he made it through one whole day before he met Shiro.

He worked after classes were over for the day. Most students went off to spend their free evenings in their dorms or the rec center, but Keith was stuck mopping floors in the nearly empty hospital wing. He was fine with it, having made no friends and entertaining no thoughts of ever getting close to anywhere at the Garrison.

Keith walked himself backwards, spreading sanitized water over the tiles and under cots. There was only one person in the hospital wing that night, lying unconscious in a cot. Or at least, Keith thought he was unconscious. When his mop accidentally knocked against the leg of the bed, the occupant opened his eyes with a gasp.

His sudden wakefulness, paired with the dim lighting general creepiness that all hospitals seem to have, caused Keith to jump and grip the mop stick in case he needed to throw it. With it being only his second day away from Krolia, he might have been a little on edge.

But the stranger posed no threat, and he talked to Keith like they were already friends.

“You look a little young to be a janitor,” he pointed out.

“I’m on the work-study program.” Maybe he came off a little antisocial, but it was only because he had pretty much zero social skills.

“Oh, you must be new then. I’m Shiro,” the stranger said.

“Keith,” Keith answered with all the practiced confidence of someone who was giving their real name rather than an assumed one.

“Nice to meet you.” Shiro smiled as he sat up in a sitting position.

Keith nodded. He could process only one thought at a time, and his brain was occupied with staring at the large gauze that spread over Shiro’s nose and covered both cheeks. Watching Shiro move, slow and jerky, it seemed like he had more injuries underneath the thin hospital gown that Keith couldn’t see.

“What happened to you?” Keith asked.

Shiro raised his hand to touch along the edges of the gauze on his face. That was when Keith saw part of his tattoo under the short sleeve of the gown.

“Oh, uh, I was in a pretty bad car crash just outside of campus.” Shiro pushed his fingers through his white bangs, which contrasted starkly against the rest of his dark hair. He looked interesting like that, with his weird hair and unique tattoo. Later, when Keith would see him for the first time without the bandage—replaced by a pink scar—the word that first entered his mind would be handsome. Shiro was handsome.

“Looks painful,” Keith said unhelpfully.

“Could have been worse,” Shiro offered with a chuckle, but it sounded too sad to be convincing. Keith didn’t want to prod.

“What’s that necklace you’re wearing?” he asked instead, nodding toward where he could see just a hint of a chain around Shiro’s neck.

“Oh,” Shiro said again. He pulled it out by the chain and held the pendant in his palm. Keith shuffled closer and leaned over Shiro to read what it said on the little metal dog tag:

_Takashi Shirogane_

_Galaxy Garrison Engineering Program_

_Rank: 01_

“Cool,” Keith said. He almost wanted to show Shiro his own necklace, but thought better of it. Even though Shiro would have no idea what it symbolized, it still felt too personal, too risky, to show to a human. A human he just met, nonetheless.

“Into engineering?” Shiro asked, so much better at the small-talk thing than Keith.

“I don’t know much about it,” Keith answered with a shrug. “The most I’ve ever done was play with an old dirt bike I found in my house when we moved in.”

“A dirt bike? Those things are archaic!” Shiro laughed more convincingly this time. Keith let himself think that he could help Shiro feel better after his crash. “And you got it running?”

“Kinda.” Another shrug, but Keith felt his lips drawing up at the corners.

“That’s nothing to shrug at. If you can pull something like that off all on your own, then I think you’ll be just fine here,” Shiro said.

The comment promised Keith that he made the right choice in coming to the Garrison. “You think?”

“Of course, Keith.” Hearing his own name on Shiro’s lips, the familiarity and joy that came with it, Keith knew he was in real danger of getting attached to Shiro. Maybe he already was. “And hey, if you ever need help with that bike, I’d love to take a look at it.”

“You’d really do that?” Keith asked, astonished, hopeful.

“Anything for a friend.”

…

Kosmo waits as his usual spot when Keith is done for the night. They walk together away from the base and into the dark desert. Anyone watching would see them swallowed up by the abyss. But the vast wilderness between campus and home never intimidated Keith or his dog. Once they’re certainly out of sight from any windows, Keith pats Kosmo on the back as a signal. One instant later, they’re standing in the middle of the house.

Keith gives Kosmo a scrap of his own dinner for a job well done. Krolia asks how his day went.

“I beat Shiro in hand-to-hand today,” is the most exciting news he can offer.

Krolia doesn’t look as happy as he is to hear it. “Keith, you know you’re not supposed to win against any human. If they get suspicious of your strength—”

“They’ll start asking questions, I know.” Keith slumps into his chair at the table. Between class, work, and the intense sparring, he’s exhausted. He really doesn’t have the energy for his mother to talk his ear off with the same old song and dance. “I didn’t use strength. I outsmarted him.”

“Oh,” Krolia says, and she’s not even trying to hide her amused smile.

“You don’t believe me?” Keith challenges, and he points his fork at her threateningly.

“I believe you,” Krolia promises, not looking at him but rather grinning down at her plate.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Keith says. “I’ll prove it to you right now.”

“No fights until you finish your dinner.”

Keith gets his ass thoroughly handed to him. He may be a military cadet, but before he was even enlisted, it was Krolia who trained him how to fight. And she reminded him of that out in the sand after they finished eating. Keith can’t be angry about it, though. It had been too long since he had a good sparring session with his mother, who is swift and intelligent and everything Keith hopes he can be one day. She teaches him by example, and he learns her every move. Fighting with Krolia, Keith can use all the power he wants. He wonders what they look like to a human, whirring around each other and throwing punches that could crack a boulder in two.

By the end of his second rough match of the day, Keith is absolutely drained. He lays face up in the dirt and watches the constellations spin around above him.

“You’re doing well,” Krolia says, popping into his view. “But you’re putting too much muscle behind your attacks and not enough thought.”

“How long do you think I would have lasted against a Galra?” he asks.

Krolia pretends to think about it. “Maybe twenty minutes. Better, I’d say, than last time.”

“What if I had my gift and knew how to control it? How long then?”

“With your gift,” Krolia lays next to him, hands crossed behind her head, “you will be unstoppable.”

Keith waits for a beat, lets himself imagine it. “I can’t wait. I hate waiting for it.”

“It will come,” Krolia swears.

“When?”

“There’s no way to know what will trigger it or when. It can by any time. A few days, a few months. It can be tomorrow,” she says.

“How will I know when I have it?” Keith wonders.

He looks at all the stars above them, wondering which gap between twinkling lights is missing something. Which vacuum Planet Altea might have occupied long ago.

“You’ll know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> keith: why are we laying in the sand?  
> krolia: you passed out. i just laid here next to you so people would think we were chillin


	2. Chapter 2

His hands are on fire.

Keith’s in the middle of his Cosmic Theory class when he starts to feel his body temperature rise. It’s not just on the outside, either. His insides feel like their cooking, and in a two seconds flat, he’s drenched in sweat.

The heat makes his heart pound in his ears as his blood rushes to fix something that he doesn’t even understand is causing him to feel like this in the first place. His head feels like it’s filled with gas.

And his hands. are so. fucking. hot.

The legs of his chair squeal in protest when he scoots away from his desk without warning. He jerks up to his feet, feels all eyes in the room on him. He doesn’t even excuse himself or mutter some kind of apology. He just runs out of the room, hugging himself, fists closed tightly against his uniform shirt.

In the hallway, he bumps into someone during his flight to the bathroom. He keeps his head down, eyes swimming with water, _don’t look at me don’t look at me don’t look at me_.

Keith gets all the way to a bathroom stall and kicks the door closed, but he can’t lock it because his hands are fucking useless. When he dares opens his palms to look, on his knees in the stall, he finds nothing. He expected to see deep gashes, gaping wounds, anything to explain the burning that pulses from deep under his skin. But his palms are just sweaty, looking red and flushed, and the heat grows exponentially by the second.

He sits and breathes through the panic. It’s happening. Krolia said it could happen today and it’s happening today. Keith sniffles, the sound loud in the bathroom, and fights tears. Krolia said it would be insense, but she never mentioned it would _hurt_ this much.

If he can just get his heart rate under control, he can see it through to the end.

“Keith?”

Keith takes a sharp inhale through his nose, back straightening like he’d been electrocuted. He knows before he turns that Shiro is standing there, peeking around the unlocked stall door, worry creasing in his brow and on his lips.

“Fuck,” Keith says, clenching his hands back into fists like there’s some actual evidence he needs to hide. “I’m okay, Shiro. I just need a minute.”

Shiro can’t be around to see this. He can’t know that his best friend is a freak from outer space. It’s best that he just leaves, even if Keith wants nothing more than Shiro’s smooth voice talking him through the experience.

“You look sick.” Shiro takes a step forward, bless him and damn him.

“It’s fine, it’s okay,” Keith says to him. “I need to be alone, please, just leave me alone.”

Panic sets in again, but it really never went anywhere in the first place. It’s hard for Keith to see what’s in front of him, his head dizzy and stomach lurching. If this goes on for much longer, he might actually be sick in the toilet he’s curled in front of. If Shiro would just _listen_ …

“Keith, tell me what’s—”

Shiro ruins everything when he places a hand on Keith’s back. He coils defensively at the contact, turning around and holding his hands up to push Shiro away. All that’s on his mind is getting him out of there so he can have his alien metamorphosis in private. He heat in his hands spreads to the tips of his fingers and down his wrists. In a split second, the tiny stall lights ablaze with red and orange flames sprouting from Keith’s skin.

Too many things assault Keith’s brain at the same time. He thinks he’s hallucinating when Shiro grabs Keith by his burning wrists and plunges his hands into the toilet water. _No, stop, I’ll burn you. I’m burning myself, can’t you see. Don’t come near me_.

The water hisses when the fire touches it. Steam rushes up into Keith’s face and makes him feel damp. He’s panting. Shiro is standing over him, holding both of Keith’s hands in the bowl, and doesn’t move until he’s sure the last of the fire is put out.

“Keith, can you hear me?” Shiro asks. He’s too calm for someone who just witnessed his best friend spontaneously combust.

Keith nods. He’s unsure of when he closed his eyes, but he keeps them that way.

“Listen closely, okay? You’re going to be okay. I know it hurts. You can take your hands out of the water, but only after you can breathe normally and calm down. With me, okay?”

He listens for Shiro’s deep inhale and mimics it. Then they exhale together, slowly. Shiro tells him, “Good.” They repeat the process until Keith can breathe slowly without having to be coaxed. He regains feeling in the rest of his body, and he senses Shiro’s rib cage expanding and contracting next to him. He’s such a solid, comforting presence.

“You can open your eyes,” he hears Shiro says.

When he does, he sees his hands wedged in the toilet bowl. His gaze floats over and finds Shiro’s face. He’s looking at Keith with… fondness? Which is not the appropriate reaction to this situation.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks.

“Not as bad as before,” Keith answers, taking mental inventory of how much more bearable it is now that he’s had a chance to relax.

“Great,” Shiro says. “As long as you stay calm, it’ll get better. Why don’t you take your hands out now?”

Keith slowly raises his arms. The water drips back down into the bowl, the coolness of it helping to soothe his angry skin. His hands are perfectly fine. There are no burn marks, as if he hadn’t been on fucking fire just a second ago. When Keith flexes his fingers, they don’t turn to ash.

He slumps against the bathroom stall. His head is still pounding. Shiro squats in front of him.

“I’m sure you’re going to ask what the fuck that was all about,” Keith says, already running through what kind of story he can make up to explain away everything Shiro just witnessed. Krolia is going to kill him. She’s going to make them move away again. Keith will have to say goodbye to Shiro.

“Actually,” Shiro says. He dips his fingers below Keith’s collar and pulls on his necklace. When the Altean pendant falls out from underneath his shirt, Shiro catches it and takes a close look at the symbol is bears. “I think I know what the fuck that was all about.”

“What?”

“Your Altean gift is fire. This is the first time you’re seeing it.”

Keith’s eyes widen. His body tenses on instinct, fearful of the worst. There are hardly any explanations for how Shiro could possibly know that. Keith thinks they got him, that Shiro was a spy for the Galra this whole time, and now he’s trapped in a corner, weak and confused and in pain.

Shiro reaches for something under his own shirt, and Keith is prepared to bolt.

But what Shiro pulls out is his dog tag, the one Keith got to look at when they first met. In Shiro’s palm, the shiny metal twists and contorts on its own, changing shape until it forms an identical match to the one around Keith’s neck. The only difference is the number.

“You… you’re…” Keith breathes.

Shiro nods, calm. “I’m just like you. I can control metal.”

Keith, dumbfounded, sits forward and takes Shiro’s pendant in his hands. He turns over the little trinket with his fingers. It’s no trick of the light. It’s no hallucination.

“Which number?” Keith asks, lifting his head to Shiro’s face.

“One,” is the last thing he wanted to hear.

Keith’s heart sinks, and he’s sure it shows on his face. Shiro is Number One. He’ll be the first to die.

“Yours says Two, doesn’t it? It’s been a while since I’ve read Altean,” Shiro muses. He somehow still has a smile on his face, albeit a more solemn one.

He lifts a hand to Keith’s hair and smoothes it over. The repetitive, gentle motion calms Keith back down to the point where his hands hardly hurt anymore. He wants to lean into the touch, he wants to pass out, he wants to be anywhere but the bathroom floor.

Shiro seems to get it. “I should take you home.”

Keith nods. “Let me wash my hands first. Someone pushed them down a fucking toilet.”

…

Shiro drives them back to the shack. Keith all but passes out resting against him during the ride home, this body and mind both tired and throbbing and numb. The Galaxy Garrison disappears behind them, and Keith doesn’t look back to watch it swallowed up in the rippling ocean mirage of the afternoon heat.

Kosmo is understandably confused by Keith’s early return—if he could talk, he’d say, “I would have waited for you if you had told me you would be early”—but the adorable tilting of his head shrinks in comparison to Krolia’s instant anxiety.

In the same sentence, Keith informs her that his gift has shown itself, that the gift manifests itself in some semblance of fire, and oh, that Shiro is one of the six children fated to save the Altean race.

“Shiro!”

She gawks at him. Her fingers twitch next to her blade, but it’s just a reflex. She stares him down until she has a grip on her own thoughts, and only then does she seem to deflate to a normal amount of worry.

“How can we be sure?” she asks him, point blank.

“Krolia!” Keith protests. He can think of plenty of reasons why questioning Shiro’s loyalty would be a dumb move, but like a physical twinge in his chest, Keith’s own guilt reminds him that even he, for a split second, thought Shiro was on the wrong side.

“It’s okay, Keith,” Shiro says, and he steps closer to show Krolia his pendant. Like Keith, she turns it over and over on her hands.

“One,” she confirms, tone sobered from the weight of the pendant and the number on it. “Did you know about us?”

“I didn’t have a clue.” Shiro pushes the words out with a wry chuckle. His shoulders shrug up and down in defeat. “To be honest, this planet is so big, I thought I might never run into another one of us. And yet you were right under my nose for years.” He says the last sentence looking at Keith.

_I could say the same_ , Keith wants to return. He also wants to say something cheesy like, _I knew there was a reason I feel so close to you_.

“What can you do?” Krolia asks. She sounds like she’s already building an army in her head.

As an answer, Shiro floats one hand up from his side. Across the kitchen, a single spoon from the sink levitates and slowly drags over to where Shiro stands. When he closes his fist, the spoon crumples like origami. Krolia’s eyes triangulate between Shiro’s face, his hand, and their poor spoon. Shiro’s fingers uncurl, and so goes the spoon. He returns it to where it had been like nothing at all happened.

Keith might be a little jealous. Shiro already has perfect, balanced control over his gift. He must’ve had years to practice it. Keith wonders if he’s just a late bloomer, or maybe Shiro is special for being Number One. Then again, Shiro is older, and Keith might be prone to overthinking.

Krolia offers a single nod of acknowledgement and places a hand on Shiro’s shoulder.

“I know it wasn’t because you knew about us, but thank you for keeping Keith safe,” she says to him.

Shiro’s face softens.

They move to the living room when the tension leaks out of their bodies. Krolia and Shiro sit on the single couch, and Keith sits on the coffee table facing them. Shiro tells them his story.

“I was seventeen when my gift unveiled itself,” he starts. Keith is already clinging to every word, sitting forward to hear how the image of his best friend unfolds.

“It woke me up in the middle of the night. First, it was the pain in my limbs, but then I heard the sound of all the metal things around me breaking. The bed frame folded under me, almost snapped shut around me. Fixtures and lights bent at all sorts of angles. Even the pipes in the walls rattled and knocked against each other. My panic made it worse, but then that was how I knew how to help you, Keith. I knew it as soon as I saw the look in your eyes.”

Keith shifted, crossing his legs. When Shiro looked at him, he looked away. It must have been harder on Shiro, not knowing what to expect, not having anyone to talk him down.

Unless.

“What about your protector? Were they with you when it happened?” Keith asked.

At that, Shiro’s face takes on a shadow that Keith isn’t used to seeing on him. He sucks in a breath, fingers coming together in a lattice. “He was. He told me how to get through it.”

“Where is he now?” Krolia asks.

“He died.”

It sounds weird, to hear about one of their own dying. Keith feels it like a punch to the sternum. For his whole life, he imagined the six gifted Alteans and their six protectors. The protectors are the people who were allowed to go with the gifted children as their guides—literally, protectors—when they were sent away from Altea before it was attacked. Some, like Krolia is to Keith, had been family, but not everyone is as lucky as Keith to have been able to keep his mother. There are twelve of them in total on planet Earth. Or, there _were_. Now eleven remain, and that’s the most generous number considering other protectors could have died too. What if Krolia is next? The protectors are easier to kill than the gifted. The Galra don’t have to go for a specific sequence.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Shiro,” Krolia says softly, reaching over to place a hand on his forearm.

“It’s alright.” He offers a brave, thankful smile. “It was years ago.”

He catches Keith staring, and there must be pained empathy written all over his face, because Shiro’s lips pull up as the tension between his eyebrows eases.

“I have a confession to make, actually. He died in the fight that landed me in the hospital. Where I met you, Keith. Remember?”

_Of course._ “Yeah.”

“We had been attacked by Galra just outside the Garrison campus.” Flashes of monstrously tall bodies and purple skin intrude upon Keith’s mind. Did it happen in the night? Did Shiro feel the same fear that turned Keith’s veins to ice? “I had mastered most of my gift by then, but they ambushed us. My protector… he sacrificed himself so I could get away. He knew how important it was for me to survive, to make sure we still have the advantage in this war.”

“He knew his role and carried it out well,” Krolia offers as condolence. “What was his name?”

“I don’t remember what he went by on Altea, but here, he called himself Adam.”

Keith hates the way Shiro’s voice sounds. He wants to take all the grief he can pick out from between the lines and throw it away into the desert. Maybe it would scatter like sand, or explode against the sky like a nebula. Anything to give Shiro back all the help he’s given Keith over the years. He doesn’t know Shiro—apparently not nearly as well as he thought he did—but he still knows him all the same. He knows Shiro doesn’t deserve the shit situation they’ve been forced into because of the Galra.

But he doesn’t let any of that show on his face.

“And,” Shiro says, his voice catching on a self-conscious laugh. He leans forward on the couch and rolls up his right sleeve, exposing the lines of his tattoo up to his elbow. “You once told me you thought my tattoo was cool. I never had the heart to tell you that it’s not a tattoo. It’s a prosthetic.”

Keith watches with an open mouth as Shiro rolls his arm forward and back. Upon close inspection, he can see that, yeah, the lines that bisect his skin twist mechanically. It’s almost perfectly seamless. Shiro clenches and unclenches his fist, demonstrating how fluidly his joints can move.

“I control it with my gift.”

Now practically hovering over Shiro, Keith drags two fingertips down from Shiro’s inner elbow to his wrist. It feels just like skin. It even gives like it’s supple with real muscle.

“Too freaky?” Shiro asks. “You’re not saying anything.”

Keith shoots his gaze up to Shiro’s face, feeling hot. At the base of Shiro’s arm, he tangles their fingers together.

“I could kill you, god damn it,” he says with a rush of breath. Shiro’s eyes open up in surprise. “You should have told me all of this, but you kept it all bottled this whole time? I could have… I could have…” He trails off, knowing damn well he couldn’t have done anything. The fight that cost Shiro his arm happened before they even met. Right before. Keith was too little, too late for Shiro.

Shiro laughs, smiling wide. The scar on his nose—the scar that Keith once thought was inconsequential, maybe even kind of attractive—carries a new weight. Too many things are happening on this day.

“Need I remind you that you also kept a pretty big secret from me,” Shiro berates gently. He squeezes Keith’s fingers.

“I’m glad the events of the past brought you together today,” Krolia chimes in. Spell broken, Keith takes his hand back and sits straighter. “I have been wondering lately if we should try and find the other numbers.”

“You don’t think grouping us together would make us an easy target?” Shiro asks, perking up, military-mode.

“Perhaps, but we would have to eventually,” Krolia answers. “The only way to break free from Galran oppression is by defeating them. We would be stronger all together, and the arrival of Keith’s gift today is a sign that you’re all almost ready to try offense instead of defense.”

“I have no idea how to keep from spontaneously bursting into flames,” Keith says, “let alone control my gift well enough to fight.”

“It will take practice,” Krolia says at the exact same time Shiro says, “I can help you practice.”

Keith’s lips tug up at the corners. “You think I’ll be able to throw fire at people soon?”

“It’ll be more than just throwing fire,” Shiro informs, sounding excited. “Your gift will be multi-faceted. Mine, for example, not only allows me to control metal, but I can also read entire metal structures just by touching them. If I touch the wall of a building, I can tell you how many people are inside, where they’re standing, and so on.”

“It’s true, Keith,” Krolia confirms. “What you experienced today was only the beginning of what you can do.”

He wonders if it’s something straightforward, like just being able to strengthen his power and make bigger, hotter flames. Or if it’ll be something more nuanced, more unexpected, like Shiro’s. Keith entertains the thought of being able to light a Galra on fire just by looking at him. That would make things a hell of a lot easier, anyway.

“Can I try now?” he asks.

Krolia sets her shoulders back. The frown on her mouth screams, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

“It would be best to take things slowly. You only just discovered your gift today,” she answers, unsurprisingly.

“I can help him,” Shiro says quietly, like Keith isn’t sitting right in front of him.

He and Krolia have some secret conversation between them, shared with just a few long seconds of eye contact. Eventually, Krolia sighs and closes her eyes. “Please be careful. And not in the house.”

Shiro gives Keith a winning smile, and Keith tries not to shoot to his feet too quickly.

Some good forethought prompts Keith to change into a tank top and shorts before heading outside. If he’s going to be playing with fire, then he’d better ditch the long sleeves and excess of flammable materials.

The sun beats down in waves in the hot afternoon. Pools of imaginary water surround the shack on all sides, like they’re on an island. Keith’s sandals leave footprints in the mixture of hard dirt and sand. Krolia sits on the porch, under the protection of shade, with a large blanket in her arms. Just in case a fire needs to be put out. Kosmo follows everyone outside. He trots the perimeter of their borrowed property, tail wagging, as he sniffs the ground. Shiro stands next to Keith, almost eclipsing the sun.

“It’s a good thing there isn’t anything out here that can burn,” Shiro’s head swivels around to take in the area, hands on his hips.

“Besides us,” Keith adds wryly.

“Don’t you dare even make jokes like that,” Krolia calls from her spot. Shiro and Keith exchange a look and share a laugh.

“The first thing you should keep in mind,” Shiro starts, causing Keith to stand at sudden attention, “is that your gift is a part of yourself. It’s not something that controls you, though it may feel like that sometimes. Remember what it was like in the bathroom today? That the more nervous you got, the wilder your fire became?”

Nodding once, Keith cools his thoughts. Not knowing how to control his gift left him feeling helpless in a way that he never wants to experience again. How quickly he could have lost his grip, let the fire spread, hurt himself, hurt _Shiro_. He knows it’s not something he should mess with, but he still needs to learn. Baby steps.

“By keeping yourself in check, you keep your gift in check. You can’t let your emotions get the better of you.” Shiro’s voice is stern when he gives the instructions. Keith shrinks under Shiro’s hard gaze. He knows Keith, so he knows that Keith is a victim of the ‘act now, think later’ disease.

“I understand,” Keith promises more to himself than to anyone else.

Shiro nods. “Then we’ll start with breathing.”

“Breathing,” Keith echoes, sounding a little more sarcastic than he intends.

“Breathing,” Shiro confirms. “Because breathing is what calmed you down today. A good end is the result of a good beginning.”

Keith steels himself and takes in a deep breath through his mouth. “I’m ready.”

“I want you to close your eyes,” and Keith does, “and hold your palms up. Take inventory of your body and mind right now. Breathe in, breathe out, and tell yourself exactly what you feel. Concentrate on _less_ than what you want to happen. If you want a fire in your palm, visualize it on your fingertips first. Let the heat of the sun on your skin help you, if you want.”

Keith feels himself recede into his own mind with Shiro’s direction. From the darkness behind his closed eyelids, he sees a light. At first, he mistakes it to be the light of the sun shining powerfully against the eyelids. But it moves as he breathes. It gets bigger, closer, and Keith can make out the image of a single flame beating like a heart. It matches the pace of his own heart—or the other way around—which is nothing like how it was when he was frantic and fearful in the bathroom stall just an hour or two ago. Keith breathes some more, and when he’s brave enough to crack his eyes open, the flame in his mind’s eye doesn’t disappear.

Instead, it flashes in all its realness and warmth against the pads of his first two fingers. He opens his eyes wider, expecting it to be another mirage, another trick of the desert. It remains, and Keith takes shakier breaths at the sight of his on-fucking-fire hand.

“It’s not going to hurt you,” Shiro says, rushed to comfort Keith in his newfound anxiety. “It’s a gift, and it’s part of you,” he reminds him.

Keith swallows to wet his dry throat and resumes his in through the nose, out through the mouth regime.

“Good,” he hears.

Once it’s clear that the fire doesn’t hurt, Keith finds himself able to stand there in some kind of awe. The little yellow flames—like candle wicks—hardly feel like anything. They tingle and pulse, but only slightly, and it kind of feels nice. Keith doesn’t know what fuels them—because all fire needs something to burn, or it snuffs itself out—but maybe it’s something like his soul or his essence of Altea or something magical like that.

“Do you want to try more?”

Keith jerks his head up to where Shiro’s voice comes from. At some point, Shiro removed his uniform top and tied the sleeves around his hips. Underneath is a standard white tee shirt that Keith hasn’t seen him in too many times. He’s already sweat through the material, which surprises Keith because he didn’t think it was that hot out. Maybe it has something to do with his fire gift, which would be awesome.

“Huh?”

“Do you want to practice some more, or should we stop for now?” Shiro reiterates, thinking Keith’s hesitance was due to nerves.

“I want to keep going,” Keith answers.

“Alright,” Shiro laughs, and he steps closer. Keith can really feel the heat now. He almost asks if Shiro’s arm gets hot like metal does in the sun.

Shiro takes Keith’s hand, the one he doesn’t know is cupping around the fire like they can blow out any second. He opens Keith up, then steps back.

“If you want it to stay strong, you can keep it that way,” Shiro promises. “Try, slowly, to drag it down your fingers and into your palm. Visualize first.”

Keith does, thinking about how the flames surrounded his entire hand and crept up his wrist on their own accord. He can make them that big, so he tries with short breaths to recreate it. He watches with his eyes open this time as the fire moves to his will. It grows, much faster than he expects it to.

It starts to feel heavy, but not in a way that makes the muscles in his arm strain. The heat seems to surround him, and the glow burn bright like he remembers seeing it the first time in the bathroom. When the flames lick the skin of his wrist, he _feels_ it.

“Shit,” he curses through gritted teeth. “It’s starting to hurt.”

“Okay,” Shiro says, calculated but nervous. His hands come up in front of him like Keith’s holding a loaded gun. “Push it back out. You know your limit now, so don’t try too much too fast.”

Keith’s right hand comes to circle around his left forearm. Holding his arm up on its own is too much of a struggle, suddenly. He pushes his hand away from himself that he can detach the limb and escape the growing fire. It’s quickly consuming him again. It’s controlling him, even though Shiro said it wouldn’t.

“Shiro, fuck, I can’t. It’s—” He cuts himself off, gulps, tries in vain to even out his ragged breathing.

There’s a flash of orange, and Keith thinks maybe the fire is finally surrounding his whole body. Or maybe the sun just up and exploded, and that’s why everything feels so hot. But he hears a sizzle and feels something soft touch his skin. He opens eyes that had closed on their own to see Shiro pressing his uniform shirt in a tight ball around Keith’s hand, smothering the last of the flames.

The tight frown on his face makes Keith think he disappointed Shiro, even though he knows deep down that’s not the case.

When Shiro removes the shirt, there’s no evidence of a fire left at all. Like before, his skin isn’t burned. It isn’t even a little red.

“I’m sorry,” Keith is pushing out before he can even decide what he’s apologizing for.

“It’s a process,” Shiro tells him.

Krolia is there, somehow, magically. “Keith, you need to be more careful.”

“Let me try again. I can get it this time.” When he leans back and raises his hand, ready to conjure the fire again, Shiro closes his fingers around it with his own—the prosthetic—and urges Keith with his eyes to not.

“That’s enough for now,” Krolia insists.

“You aren’t going to get it in a day, Keith,” Shiro says, soft but strained.

“I know I won’t, but I _need_ to get it as soon as possible. I have to be able to protect myself because there’s a very real chance that neither of you will be there for me next time the Galra find me! Just look at what happened to Shiro’s protector!”

At Shiro’s shock, his grip slackens, and Keith shakes him off and takes more steps backwards. He can see on both of their faces that he hurt them, and he wants to take it back, but he also wants them to take this as seriously as he is. His gift finally came to him after eighteen years of waiting. It’s some kind of miracle that the Galra haven’t already gotten him. With power, he can protect himself, protect his mother and Shiro, finally face the threat that has left him living in fear for almost his entire life.

And they just don’t get that.

So he runs.

He turns and kicks dirt up as his legs carry him in a random direction away from the shack. With the sun in his eyes, Keith can’t tell where he’s headed. The sandals make it hard to run at top speed.

A bark sounds from behind, and Keith turns his head to see Kosmo galloping alongside him. He smiles. Of course, he should know that Kosmo would never let him go anywhere alone.

He lowers a hand to brush his fingers against the fur on Kosmo’s head. Just as the familiar energy sizzles around his body and zaps him away, he hears someone call his name desperately. They’re gone before he can determine if the voice belongs to Shiro or Krolia.

They land on a plateau, one that’s tall enough to overlook almost all of the desert. The desert still wins, though, in all its majesty and might. Keith knows the direction his house is in. If he quints and shades his eyes, he can make out the tiny blip of it in the khaki ocean like a fly on a windshield. This is far enough.

He sits on the edge of the cliff and bumps his bare calves against the rough rock. Kosmo takes his spot next to him, panting happily because he knows he helped give Keith something he needed. Keith rests his hand on Kosmo’s back, lazily petting his fur.

“It’s a wonder how you don’t melt out here with all this hair,” Keith says.

It takes all of three minutes for him to feel embarrassed at running away. He really just needed to breathe, to listen to Shiro, because Shiro seems to always know the right thing to do. Now that he’s out here, he sits and enjoys the view. He should be getting back soon, but it’ll never be soon enough to keep Krolia from going into cardiac arrest.

But before that…

Well, he has all this space and freedom to himself for a few minutes. It would be a shame to waste the opportunity.

Eyes closed, Keith takes a deep breath in through his nose and exhales through his mouth. He repeats and repeats and repeats, until the world seems to sway with the movement of his lungs. He pictures the fire on his hands, but he pictures it differently this time. He invites it to him, acknowledging it as an extension of his body. In his mind, the flame dances and waves at him.

He peeks with one eye, just in case the flame will get shy from him looking.

When it doesn’t shrink away from his scrutiny—or roar like a beast and swallow him whole—Keith opens both eyes and his palm to welcome the warmth that radiates like a furnace from his body.

He bends his arm at the elbow and holds his hand up like a torch. In his head, Keith hears Shiro praising his concentration. Keith wants to keep it alive to make Shiro proud, even if he isn’t there to see it.

With newfound confidence as his fuel, Keith brings his hands together and passes the fire from one palm to the other. It’s weightless. He hardly feels anything at all, and if it weren’t for the slight tingle surging down his arms and out his fingertips, he’d think he’s fever-dreaming the whole thing.

“Heh,” Keith breathes, a smile on his face as he bounces the flame back and forth between his hands.

How cool would it be if he could juggle balls of fire…?

No! Keith shakes his head of the thought. Ambition is what landed him here in the first place. A voice nags in the back of his mind that he needs to work slowly, start with the basics, and not get himself checked into a hospital on account of self-arson.

So instead of balls of raging fire, Keith imagines a soft glove made of gentle flames.

He knows his limit—for now—is his wrist, so he won’t try to push past that. When he wills it, the fire spreads to cover both sides of his left hand, down to where the palm meets his wrist. It slides over him, front and back. As Keith rotates his hand in front of himself, he marvels at the way the eclipsed sun, directly on the horizon, behind his hand casts an orange glow in the flames that make it look like he’s encased in amber.

Kosmo whines.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Keith comforts.

“You’re really determined to get this down, huh?”

Keith jerks a bit at the sound of the unexpected voice. The distraction quells his fire, and he grips the edge of the plateau with his hands and turns to see Shiro there, smiling gently. Kosmo runs over, enthusiastic about getting some attention.

“Hey,” Keith says, and he offers Shiro another, smaller smile. “Yeah.”

Shiro strides over and assumes a spot next to Keith. “I’m not surprised.”

“About what? That I ran away at the first sign of conflict?” Not wanting to look at him, Keith focuses on flicking little rocks from the cliff with his nail.

“That you’d get the hang of it so quickly,” Shiro clarifies, which sounds like him just being nice.

“I don’t feel like I have the hang of anything,” Keith retorts bitterly, mostly to himself.

“You have to take it in stride,” Shiro says. “Going from not knowing how to handle it at all today, to teaching yourself how to conjure it a few hours later is a big step. The hardest step, in my opinion.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t really teaching myself. I heard you talking to me the whole time.” When Keith says it, he steals a glance at Shiro’s face. He’s looking at him, still soft, still a friend.

“Whatever works,” Shiro chuckles with a shrug. “I’m glad I could help, even if I wasn’t really here for it.”

Keith scoots away from the ledge and hugs his knees to his chest.

“I’m sorry about what I said.” Keith speaks into his folded arms. “About your protector.”

“I know you didn’t mean it in that way,” Shiro says. He sounds sadder, and Keith chastises himself for ever speaking at all. An apology doesn’t nullify the fact that the words left his mouth. “You’re right to prepare for the worst case scenario, no matter how awful it would be to think about.”

Unwilling to make the same mistake again, Keith doesn’t answer. He just draws his shoulders up and digs his nails into his elbows.

Shiro still goes on. “I never let myself imagine what it would be like to lose him. It would have been easier if I recognised the truth that he was in just as much danger as we are.”

Keith knows Krolia was right when she said it’s a protector’s job to die for their gifted charge. He hates to think about Krolia throwing herself between Keith and the blade of a Galra, but she would, and there’s a chance she might, one day. Now Shiro is in that mix, and Keith wants to revert back to pretending nothing bad can happen to them, ever.

“I actually—” Shiro starts, cutting himself off and starting again. His tone is different. “I should say something else about Adam. Because it’s important—was important—to me. And we don’t need anymore secrets between us.”

Keith turns his head, cheek resting on his arm, as he gives Shiro his open attention.

This time, it’s Shiro who averts his gaze. “Adam and I… were in a relationship before he died.”

Keith doesn’t have the brain power to keep his eyebrows from shooting up in surprise. He may have also tensed up a bit, but his fear of appearing to reject Shiro’s evident orientation causes him to relax and right the wrongs. It’s fine. Of course it’s fine.

“God, Shiro…” Keith starts and stops, because what the hell do you say to that? “I’m so sorry.”

He catches Shiro glancing at him from the corner of his eye. He reaches out, places a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, and squeezes. The touch seems enough to dispel whatever worry Shiro kept locked up in his posture, and he relaxes with a puff of air.

“It’s alright,” Shiro tries. “We should have considered that outcome before we started dating.”

“Considered or not, it’s a pretty shitty thing that happened to you,” Keith mutters.

Shiro half-shrugs, looks at Keith’s hand on his shoulder, looks at Keith. He smiles again. A million miles away, the sun sets. “You know what? I’m not sad that he sacrificed himself. If he hadn’t, then they would have gotten me. And then you would have been next. By living, I can keep you safe.”

Keith doesn’t like the _thump_ that his chest makes. His stomach drops to the bottom of the plateau. Grimacing, he forms a fist with his hand and punches Shiro’s shoulder. “Don’t fucking talk like that.”

Shiro laughs gently and nudges at Keith his his elbow. His eyes wander over the land stretched out in front of them. He stares for a long moment, then seems to notice for the first time what hour it is.

“Come on.” Shiro stands and doesn’t even give Keith a choice. He hoists Keith up from under his arms, and suddenly his feet are below him. The vertigo at standing at the edge of the cliff is exhilarating. The light breeze could hold him up. “Your mom is going to be pissed.”

“She’s already pissed.” The thought of going home to Krolia just to get his ear chewed off makes Keith smile, for some reason.

When they reach Shiro’s hoverbike, Keith tells Kosmo he can poof back to the house and wait for them there. Kosmo makes no such poofing, only whines and droops his ears.

“Guess you’re riding with us, then,” Keith supposes.

He climbs to his place behind Shiro, arms going around him like always. Kosmo stands on the hood of the bike with ease and grace. Shiro takes them home.

The shack magnifies into view. Keith fixates on that as the spotted heavens rotate above them. At the front of the bike, Kosmo barks. The sound starts loud and evolves into a deep growl, the kind that Keith has heard only once before in his life.

The hair on his arms raises.

Above the shack, the air warps and shifts until it splits open to reveal a deep purple and black spacecraft.


	3. Chapter 3

Kosmo is the first off Shiro’s bike. He leaps to the ground and kicks off at full speed in the direction of the house.

Keith is right behind him, though not at fast. His heart pumps at the pace of his legs as he dashes for his home with only one thought in mind.

It’s dark, but somehow the Galra ship casts a shadow on the ground anyway. Keith feels like he’s trapped in a nightmare where no matter how long he runs, the house never gets any closer.

Above them, the front of the ship starts to glow fuschia and hum menacingly. The whir gets louder as whatever weapon that is charges up.

Just a little further, and Keith can get to—

The cannon fires a beam of energy at the first floor of the house. The poor, ancient wood planks, they never stood a chance. The second story collapses into the first like a reverse explosion in a sickening crunch of wood and shingles.

“Mom!”

Keith reaches out like his arm could span the yards and yards between himself and the wreckage. Kosmo vanishes.

“Keith!”

Shiro’s shouts come from behind. He comes speeding in on his bike, then jumps off before it even stops fully. One sturdy arm comes and blocks Keith’s desperate path to what’s left of the shack.

“We have to get out of here!” Shiro tells him, and this is the first time he’s wrong. He’s _wrong_.

“But Krolia!” Keith fights Shiro, but what he really wants is to fight the monsters in the ship.

This is the second time they’ve come and attacked at home. Keith couldn’t fight last time. All he did was run. He can’t now.

The cannon starts humming again, charging for a second shot. The ship hovers in the sky and slowly angles until Keith and Shiro are at the end of the barrel.

In the corner of his eye, Keith sees Kosmo appear at a healthy distance away from the rubble. With him is Krolia, coughing and leaning heavily on the dog. She looks battered, but she’s alive. Keith’s relief lasts seconds, because he gets a hard shove from Shiro that sends him tumbling to the ground a few feet away.

He spits up dirt and sand and pushes himself up on his elbows in time to see Shiro stand in the way of the cannon. Stupid, he’s so fucking stupid!

Shiro plants his feet on the ground and raises his hands in the direction of the ship. The purple spotlight trained on him is too bright, and he has to close his eyes and grit his teeth. Keith closes his eyes too, because he can’t watch, he can’t watch.

There’s an awful screeching of metal, but there’s no flash of light. There’s no blast, and when Keith opens his eyes again, Shiro is still standing there. His fingers are curled like claws, tearing the metal sides of the canon apart from a hundred yards away.

Keith gets to his feet and feels a hand on his arm. Krolia is there to greet him, and behind her, Kosmo.

“They found us,” she says grimly.

“I’m not running,” Keith tells her.

She nods and gasps the blade at her hip. At her touch, it grows and extends to the length of a sword. “We’re standing our ground today.”

Keith runs back to Shiro’s side, who’s sweating from ripping the front of the ship to shreds. There’s still much more ship left to go, and Keith has a feeling Shiro can’t just crumple it like a sheet of aluminium foil.

“How many do you think are in there?” Keith asks.

Shiro presses a breath out from around his clenched jaw. He flexes his arm one more time, and Keith hears a loud crunch. The engine sputters out of life, and the ship slowly crashes to the ground like a miniature earthquake.

“At least ten,” Shiro answers. He sounds strained, winded.

At Shiro’s warning, as if on cue, a wave of tall and dark figures pours out of both sides of the fallen ship. They wear armor and helmets, faceless. Keith doesn’t know if that makes things better or worse.

They begin their charge. On either side of Keith, Krolia and Shiro drop into defensive positions. Keith clenches his fist and runs through his advantages in his head: he has two experienced fighters by his side, he might not know how to control his power, but he has it, his speed and strength are ten times that of the norm on this planet. His adrenaline starts up, revving his body like an engine.

Krolia and Shiro engage with the first of the Galra to reach them. Keith locks his eyes on the next available target and launches at it, squeezing every drop of his Altean agility out of his core. In a fraction of a second, he covers a vast distance and throws his closed fist at the chest of his enemy. The momentum from his run allows him to swing all of his might behind the punch, and the Galra goes flying.

His knuckles sting, but it feels so fucking good.

Krolia’s blade makes clean slices against the vulnerable space between the Galran helmets and chest plates. Shiro fends off attackers with hand-to-hand, almost effortlessly. He blocks Galran blows like they’re nothing but tumbleweeds swaying in the breeze. He doesn’t even need his power, but when he uses it, Galrans fall to the ground without having been touched. All it takes is a flex of Shiro’s fingers, and their armor collapses around them like a constricting snake. They groan and scream as they go down.

Keith catches something sharp in the jaw, and he goes down because, apparently, the Galra also have super strength. When his back collides with the ground, he tries to push himself back up, to roll out of the way, but a heavy boot stomps on his chest and holds him firm. Keith coughs.

The end of a foreign gun presses against his forehead with such a force that the back of his skull knocks against the dirt. He struggles to get out from underneath the oppressive weight of the Galra, but he hears the weapon charging and knows its futile.

He grips the neck of the fun with one hand and raises the other to aim upwards. _Come on_ , he thinks. _You worked with me before, please work with me again_.

He imagines the fire igniting again, wills it to extend out past his fingertips in a desperate reach for help. Keith sees the heat and feels the light. In a flash, a column of fire arches out from his open palm and connects under the Galra’s chin. The force is enough to knock him onto his back. The tip of his sword plunges into his throat a second later, and Keith lifts his eyes to see Krolia digging her weapon in deep.

“I’m going to look for stragglers on the ship. Stay alert,” she tells him, ripping the sword out and cleaning the blood on the fallen Galra’s armor.

Keith gulps and bites back an urged _yes, ma’am_ because his mother is showing a side of herself that he’d really only seen glimpses of before.

Well, that must be the reason she is his protector.

She jogs off to the broken spacecraft. Keith surveys the land.

There are only two left. Two out of a whole shipful, and they’re going to win. Victory is tasting so sweet on his tongue after swallowing only fear and uncertainty for so long.

Keith runs over to help Shiro with the last of their enemy. He lights up his hand in preparation, already addicted to the feeling of the flame washing over his skin.

He’s not fast enough to intervene before a Galra sweeps Shiro’s feet out from under him. For all his balance and coordination, Shiro loses his footing and crashes to the ground. Keith watches the Galra bend over Shiro and pluck the pendant of his necklace from his chest. There’s a sickening cackle that must be a laugh.

“Number One…” the Galra purs. “Thank you for the fun game.”

This Galra—he’s holding a katar. He drags the tip of it up Shiro’s sternum until it digs into the exposed skin of his throat. Keith hears the Galra laugh again, and his stomach falls out of his body.

“Shiro!”

At full speed, he fully intends to tackle the fucker to the ground and strangle him with his bare hands. The Galra hears him approaching, though, and swings around with the katar raised defensively.

Keith catches the blade mid-swing. His fire burns so hotly that it melts the metal on contact, which splinters off and breaks into two sizzling pieces. The Galra has no choice but to drop the useless weapon and curl his hand into a fist instead.

But Keith is ready for the punch this time, and when he blocks the arm coming his way, the Galra screams from the burning pain that sears through his armor.

Distracted, it’s almost too easy for Keith to pick up the jagged katar and thrust it into the Galra’s neck.

The body crumples, taking the blade with it.

Keith looks at Shiro, who’s still on the ground. They’re both catching their breath, staring at each other. Keith wonders where the warm light that reflects in Shiro’s eyes is coming from, and then he looks down to see both of his hands dancing with flames. They cast a small ring of light in a circle around Keith’s feet.

A soft grunt sounds from somewhere off in the dark, outside of Keith’s little circle of light. He and Shiro both tense up and turn their heads in the direction of the noise. A wounded Galra gets to his feet and staggers toward them with a gun raised.

Shiro is quick about it. With a flick of his arm, the broken katar from the nearest body flies out and buries itself in the soldier’s throat. When he dies for good, silence falls again. Keith lets out a breath and relaxes his hands until they fizzle out.

When he looks back at Shiro, they both bubble over, laughing at all this absurdity.

Shiro tugs on the hand that’s offered to help him up. When he gets to his feet, he covers Keith’s hand with both of his own.

“You’re warm,” he notes.

“Yeah, I was on fire,” Keith says. Shiro snorts.

His face sobers immediately, though. His fingers brush down the right side of Keith’s jaw, drawing his attention to the sting that he feels in that general area.

He hisses without meaning to.

“What is it?”

“It’s a pretty nasty cut,” Shiro says with a frown, leaning closer to inspect. His fingers stay on Keith’s chin to hold him in place. “It doesn’t look too deep.”

“Hardly even feel it,” Keith mumbles, a little distracted by how close Shiro is.

He wants to stay like this, which is a startling enough thought as it is. The adrenaline washing through his veins starts to fade, and in place of his fight or flight instincts, Keith wants the opposite. He feels the urge to breathe and take inventory of himself, of Shiro, and remind the both of them that they’re still in one piece.

But Shiro’s eyebrows shoot up, and he drops his hand and backs away.

Keith tells himself not to think about the look on his face.

Krolia emerges from the crashed ship with Kosmo at her side. Her blade has shrunk to its dormant size, and she carries a bag slung over her shoulder.

As she approaches them, she takes a mournful glance at where their house used to be.

“There will be more,” she says, taking a bite out of tonight’s victory. “We have to get out of here.”

He has heard it before so many times, whenever they move to a new place.

“We…?” Keith repeats before he means to, looking desperately at Shiro.

Keith is used to moving. He has has homes he’s said goodbye to before because deep down he knew they weren’t his real homes. Home was a planet that no longer existed. This life on Earth is just a placeholder until they can win their involuntary war. Keith has never had to say goodbye to a person before, not a person he felt more at home with than anything else.

Shiro reads his mind and places a heavy, warm hand on his shoulder. “We. The three of us.”

Keith feels his cheeks hurt from his smile. Kosmo barks once.

“Four of us,” Shiro corrects, laughing.

This time feels nothing like a goodbye.

…

They drive through the night and through most of the day.

The rural stretch of highway goes on forever, it seems, reminding Keith of just how big and spread apart this country is. The passenger’s seat in Krolia’s stolen station wagon is familiar. He can’t count how many times they’ve climbed inside and sped away from a previous home without looking back.

The Garrison is behind him now. Keith can’t bring himself to say he won’t miss it.

Shiro is behind him, too, dozing off with his forehead pressed to the window.

Keith smiles to himself and turns back around to face the front. His shoes lie forgotten on the floor, and he tucks his legs under himself for maximum road trip comfort. Scrolling through his phone, he goes through the motions of deleting the contacts he’d forged at the Garrison and starting his social media over again.

“Do you have a destination in mind?” Keith asks. He wants to scope out the area on Google Maps before they get there.

“New York City.”

Keith scoffs at the cliche of it, but he’s already tabbing through pictures of the metropolis of his phone. They’ve lived in cities before, but never ones this big or this… central. It’ll feel like a world away from their little hub in the desert.

“Any particular reason? Or are we just going for the ‘hiding in plain sight’ thing again?”

“There is that aspect of it, yes,” Krolia answers. “But we will be following a lead.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I believe another one of the gifted Alteans is in the city. There might be more than one, if I’m reading the sources correctly.”

“Are you serious?” Keith sits up straight, his hands and phone falling uselessly into his lap. Krolia isn’t looking at him, but the hint of a smile spreads across her profile. “How—How would you even be sure?”

“I don’t just sit around cooking and cleaning when you go to school,” is how she responds, and she steals a glance at him with her rare, warm smile.

“So we’re really doing this…” They’re really going to find the other numbers and band together. Keith’s mind races with what he thinks they all might look like, what their gifts are, if they might have been friends had they not been ejected from their planet when they were children.

Keith wonders if Shiro ever met another one of them, but the question will have to wait for a minute he isn’t snoring softly in the backseat of their car.

Krolia tells him that they’ll have to split the drive into two different days. She pulls into the parking lot of a motel, passing under its neon vacancy sign, just as the sun dips out of sight. Keith gratefully stretches his legs and walks Kosmo around the property so he can do his business. Kosmo methodically trots around with his nose to the ground. He does it every time they go to a new place, and Keith thinks it’s because Kosmo wants to make sure the area is secure.

Once Krolia books a room with a false credit card, they pile into the two-bed motel suite. Shiro carries the few belongings they salvaged from the wrecked shack. The bags are filled mostly with just a few sets of spare clothes and necessities. Shiro never got the chance to go back to the Garrison before they left. Keith hopes he didn’t leave anything too important behind.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Krolia announces minutes after they checked in, and she leaves the room without providing any further explanation.

Shiro gives Keith a look.

“I know, right?” Kith sighs. “I’m not allowed to do anything without her permission, but she can up and leave without so much as a goodbye.”

“It’s just because she cares,” Shiro offers.

He closes the heavy, musty curtains. Keith watches from the edge of the second bed.

“Nervous habit?” he asks, if only to stir up a different conversation.

“I’m not stranger to running,” Shiro says, reminding Keith that they live the same lives, even if they spent the last few years not knowing the truth about each other. “The Garrison was a safe place, but everywhere else leaves us vulnerable.”

Keith nods solemnly and asks what he’d wondered about earlier in the car. “Have you met any of the other numbers?”

“Not on Earth. I might have on Altea, but it’s hard to remember,” Shiro answers, coming to sit on the other bed facing Keith. “I have… flashes of childhood friends. I think they were the Alteans. But back then, we didn’t really know we were the gifted ones.”

The catastrophic events that got them on this planet all blend together in Keith’s memory. He knows he was there with his family, with Krolia, as they were sent away. But he was barely older than a baby on that day, and the holes in his memory are filled in by the stories of home Krolia would tell him. He thinks he can picture it. Sometimes he wakes from dreams about a beautiful green and blue planet where he got to play with a mother and a father and a horde of friends. Those dreams, those might be real memories.

“Do you remember much of Altea? Your family?” Keith doesn’t know what good it is to ask. It’s not like they can ever go back. But he likes to remember it, as if that would be enough to keep it alive.

Shiro shrugs and looks away, lost in thought. “Bits and pieces. But it’s hard to tell what’s real and what I’ve made up to meet my own expectations.”

“I know a thing or two about expectations,” Keith mutters. It prompts Shiro to glance at him, curiosity in his eyes. Keith gestures to the closed-off window. “How do you feel about this whole situation? About how we’re supposed to end a war that we didn’t even start? A war that had been going on for long before we were born?”

It grates at Keith, sometimes, thinking about how unfair the universe had to be to them for it to prophesize children— _children_ —to win a war or die trying. If he didn’t have so much pent-up anger at the Galra, he would have refused to risk his life in a fight that wasn’t even his own.

Shiro considers the question. “I never really thought about it. I just see it like, someone has to do it. We were dealt the hand, so we have to work with it.”

It’s a reasonable answer as any. Of course, Shiro has always been the more reasonable out of the two of them.

He gets up from the bed and douses the lights. With the curtains drawn closed, the darkness of the twilight quickly fills up the tiny, quiet room.

“Going to sleep?” he hears Shiro ask.

As an answer, Keith lights his fingers on fire.

The surprise on Shiro’s face is softened by the gentle glow. It throws tall shadows against the walls, shifting with every subtle move of Keith’s hand. What felt cold and unfamiliar just a moment ago is suddenly warm and light. Shiro smiles.

“What are you doing?”

“If we’re going to be stuck fighting the Galra just because we were born gifted,” Keith says, “then I’m going to learn every side of my gift and use it to win.”

When he spreads his fingers apart, the small flames follow them like individual candles. He watches as he brings his fingers back together, combining the flames into a point that wraps around his first knuckles like an arm sliding into a sleeve.

“You’re going for ‘fastest person to ever master a gift,’ aren’t you?”

“Is that the worst thing in the world?”

Keith looks across the few feet of space between them. Shiro’s brow bone and jawline look especially sharp in the low, angled lighting.

“No,” Shiro admits, and he stands. He comes closer and wraps his fingers around Keith’s forearm, nervous he might go off and burn the whole motel down on accident.

Keith looks at the fingers pressing on his skin. The subtle, intricate lines of the prosthetic mesmerise him.

“How do you do it?” he finds himself asking.

“How do I do what?” Shiro asks. His voice has gotten lower, not having to reach as far now that they’re standing so close. Keith likes the softness of it, so near.

“Control your gift, teach it to grow? I need to practice.”

“It’s more than just practice,” Shiro asserts. “You have to be really in tune with yourself. Communicate with it, and it will communicate with you.”

“How do I know it won’t hurt me the next time I try to push the boundaries?”

When he meets Shiro’s eyes, Shiro takes in a soft breath, staring back at Keith like he’s just looking at him for the first time. Keith wants to ask what he sees. The fire in the reflection of his eyes is so nice.

Shiro swallows, squeezes Keith’s arm. “You just have to trust it.”

Keith nods and refocuses on his hand. He wills the flame to change, but slowly this time. He thinks of it consuming his whole body, but instead of burning, it’s just the pleasant tingle that radiates through his hands when he holds it.

The fire creeps down toward his wrist. Keith braces himself for it to sting, because that was how far he could get last time. But he lets it come. When the flame meets the skin below his palm, it doesn’t stop. And it doesn’t hurt. The light in the room intensifies with each second, the fire spreading from his fingertips to the edge of where Shiro’s hand rests on his arm, a good third of the way down.

When Keith breathes out a laugh, his breath ruffles the flame like a feather. He looks up at Shiro with all the light and warmth in his face, too. Shiro laughs with him.

“Someone turned on the lights in here,” he comments, and he’s right. It’s so bright, banishing the shadows to the furthest corners of the room. Shiro is so close, Keith can see all of him now.

He relinquishes effort when it starts to feel a little too warm. Maybe he should have practiced outside. The flame goes back to candle size, inviting the dark to embrace them again. He and Shiro are huddled around it like an oasis.

“How does it feel?” Shiro asks.

“Really good.” It feels like the heat remains in his veins even when it’s no bigger than a teardrop. He wonders how it feels for Shiro.

“I think you’re well on your way to being the fastest to master his gift.” Shiro’s hand floats up from Keith’s arm to his face, knuckles brushing gently down his cheek. “And this? How is this feeling?”

Keith’s cut from the encounter with the Galra has started healing over the past twenty four hours. It’s still tender, but at least it won’t get infected. There will be a scar.

“It’s good,” he says.

“Does it hurt to touch?”

“No.” And to demonstrate, Keith leans against Shiro’s hand. His eyes flutter at the press of his fingers, a completely involuntary side-effect of having Shiro’s hands on him. It’s soothing.

Shiro cups his face, mindful of where it hurts. Keith extinguishes his flame in favor of touching Shiro’s bicep, proving to himself that he really is right there.

“You’re so warm,” Shiro whispers in the dark. Keith’s eyes drift closed.

There’s a single, quiet knock on the door. Both of them freeze where they are, Keith’s eyes flying open, and he stares at Shiro’s face in the shadows.

“Keith,” Shiro warns.

“Shh,” Keith says, and he waits.

They both wait, and it feels like a fever. Exactly seven seconds after the first knock comes another, identical one. Keith relaxes.

“It’s Krolia.”

He slips away from Shiro. As he opens the door, he switches on the light and greets Krolia standing there with two plastic bags that smell distinctly like Chinese food.

Kosmo gratefully accepts the handfuls of rice and chicken that are passed to him. Everyone eats in a circle, sharing boxes of food and tasting a little bit of everything. Next to Keith on the one bed, Shiro hiccups a laugh that sounds like he’s been holding it in.

“I can’t stand to watch this anymore,” is all he says, and he leans closer to Keith and takes a hold of his hand with insistent fingers.

“What?” Keith squawks indignantly as Shiro respositions his grip to hold two chopsticks between three fingers.

“Seeing you stab at your food was hurting my soul,” Shiro says, still all amused an happy. He demonstrates how to pick up and hold a piece of beef with his own chopsticks with the grace and precision of a marksman.

Despite how little he cares about proper Chinese take-out etiquette, Keith flushes. He pinches and subsequently drops his next bite of steamed broccoli about a dozen times before successfully shoveling it into his mouth. “Where’d you even learn how to use chopsticks in the first place?”

“When we first landed here, we lived in Japan,” Shiro says. “It’s where I picked my name from.”

Keith chews and swallows around the broccoli and thinks about Shiro in Japan, walking and talking and blending in like he was born there, completely unaware of Keith on the opposite side of this massive planet. Keith wonders if they would have met eventually, somehow, like some divine intervention that puts them together and pulls them apart at random—or if Shiro might have been killed long before Keith had a chance to meet him, and the Galra would scour the planet for the next number down the line.

In the middle of the night, Keith wakes to weight shifting in the bed. Shiro makes a sound of sleep and presses himself up against Keith’s back, one arm wedging itself between where his body ends and Kosmo’s fluffy one begins. The added warmth of Shiro’s presence lulls Keith back to sleep within minutes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did someone order some extra paladins?

New York City’s skyline is busy.

The skyscrapers interrupt the horizon like rectangular mountains. Their glass windows reflect the high afternoon sun and mirror the orange ball of fire in waves. At a glance, Keith can almost mistake the whole city for just an elaborate mirage back in the desert.

The climate is completely different, too. Back at their old home, the summer was hot and dusty and some might even describe it as oppressive. Here, just two days later, it seems the weather has shifted to not as hot, but definitely more humid, and more tolerable. Temperature here isn’t something that demands attention. One can ignore it entirely.

Keith’s hand hangs out the window, fingers spread to interrupt the wind rushing past them. In the back, Kosmo’s tongue hangs out of his mouth, and he squints in the breeze.

“Do we know exactly where to start looking?” Keith asks.

Krolia pulls into a gas station and searches something on her phone. “I don’t have a specific location other than perhaps the northern section of Manhattan island.”

“I don’t suppose we can put out ads,” Keith rumbles sarcastically, unbuckling his belt.

“It might be worth it for you to meditate once we get closer,” Krolia throws out, causing Keith to pause with his fingers wrapped around the door latch.

“Meditate?” he repeats to make sure he heard correctly.

“I have reason to believe that the gifted children have a mental link to each other.” Krolia pays no mind to Keith’s open-mouthed, _you’ve got to be kidding me_ stare. “After all, you and Shiro seemed to be attracted to each other immediately upon meeting.”

“Krolia!” Keith croaks, turning red even though he really shouldn’t. He chances a look at Shiro in the back seat and finds him smiling sheepishly and scratching the back of his neck.

“There’s no harm in trying,” Krolia deadpans, either oblivious to the effect her word choice had or not caring how it sounded to the two boys. She exits the car to open the gas cap.

“I’m going to look at sunglasses,” he pushes out and leaves the suddenly stuffy vehicle.

Krolia hands off her credit card and asks Keith, if he’s already going inside, to pay the clerk for pump number eleven. Keith glances over his shoulder as he pulls the door open, clear bells ringing over head, and sees Shiro walking Kosmo around some bushes.

He browses the limited selection of sunglasses hanging on a rack next to the oversized bags of potato chips and pork rinds. Most of them sport lame, touristy designs of the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building. There’s a simple pair of black aviators, though, and they look kind of decent on him from what he can see in the tiny mirror above the kiosk.

Keith catches a slow movement behind him in the mirror. He almost thinks nothing of it, but he was raised better than that.

First, he maneuvers to find the shadow in the mirror, not daring to turn around and make it look like he’s suspicious. The black that he saw turns out to be a tall figure with a long, dark coat, and that’s what sets his hair standing on end. No one needs a coat in the middle of the summer. He removes the sunglasses and casually hangs them on the chain of his necklace.

When he finally turns around, breath held and fists clenched, he sees the figure glance down at his chest, where the sunglasses obstruct his Altean pendant from view. The figure sneers, and Keith doesn’t miss the glint of sharp fangs in his set of teeth.

He barely dodges the row of food shelving that’s kicked at him. It topples on his legs, knocking him down to the floor. The gas clerk shrieks and ducks behind the counter.

As soon as he gets his bearings, Keith scrambles deeper into the store. He has no weapons on him, so the best thing he can work with is a pair of silver tongs sitting next to the hot dog rotisserie. The Galra throws his hood back, his angry, yellow eyes glowing in the fluorescent gas station lights. He growls in frustration and lunges at Keith, who ducks and jabs the tongs into the soft spot under the Galra’s jaw. His makeshift weapon of choice isn’t sharp enough to break skin, but it does bruise and disorient his attacker long enough for him to dash for the front door.

“Krolia!”

His mother looks up from the gas pump, and her eyes go wide as soon as she sees the massive figure crashing through the door right behind Keith. She disengages and goes for her blade. The Galra pulls a concealed sword from his coat and raises it above Keith’s head.

Keith turns just in time to lift his hands in self-defense, both of them lighting up in a brilliant show that would otherwise be a pretty dumbass move to pull when surrounded by gasoline.

Before the Galra’s blade can make contact with Keith, Krolia intersects the weapon with her own and blocks the assault.

“Keith!” Shiro calls from somewhere close by. Kosmo is barking.

For all of Krolia’s strength, she just barely reaches the Galra’s shoulders in terms of height. The Galra kicks her squarely in the chest, and she collides with the side of their car with a grunt. When the Galra turns to Keith with a snarl, Keith raises his fists in defiance.

He’s ready for whatever the Galra can think to throw at him. A slice, a punch, a choke—Keith wants him to try his worst. He’s held off Galra before, and now there’s just one. It’s nothing more than a nuisance.

Which explains Keith’s surprise and terror when the Galra goes left instead of forward. He’s totally unprepared for the Galra to grab the gas hose and douse him in the foul-smelling stuff. His instincts make him react too quickly. He raises his hands to protect himself from the spray, but the flames still licking his skin drink up the fuel and swell with the speed and power of a bomb going off.

There’s a flash of white-hot light. Someone calls his name. The heat washes over him, coming at him like the light at the end of a tunnel they’re speeding through.

Something crackles. He smells burning, but not burning flesh. Keith peels his eyes open and sees the world through amber. When he breathes in, smoke and flames fill his lungs, but it doesn’t kill him. It feels like air.

He can’t let his own surprise chase away the beautiful opportunity of the Galra’s shock to slip away. Keith breathes again and reminds him that the fire is part of himself, that he can control where it goes and what it does. When he steps forward, the flames recede to just his arms, freeing up his movement. He rips the gas hose from the Galra’s fingers and turns it against him.

The spray of gasoline blossoms into a terrifying arch of fire when Keith angles his hand against the spout. The Galra stumbles backward to avoid getting burned. His growl turns vicious when he regains footing and reaches into his dark coat.

Keith backs up into Krolia and Shiro, hands raised protectively. “I’m gonna blow him up.”

“Keith—” Krolia tries.

“Just stay down,” he barks. “There’s plenty of gas around here to fan the flames.”

He throws a serious look to Shiro, who nods once and rips the car door from its hinges. It floats in front of him, Krolia, and Kosmo.

Keith takes a deep breath before flinging himself around to the front of the improvised shield. The Galra has taken a handgun-like weapon from his coat, the familiar buzz of it charging up causing Keith to aim his hands at the barrel. If it’s anything like the cannon from the Galra ship before, then it should take to fire perfectly.

Keith just needs to time it flawlessly and send a blast at the Galra just as the weapon is fired.

He focuses, trusting his ears to clue him in when the Galra’s finger flexes against the trigger.

The gun glows dark purple, and it’s now or never. Keith grits his teeth and wills the fire to jump forward in front of his body. The fire shoots out of him like an arrow, aimed at the back of the barrel.

He stands his ground. An explosion can’t hurt him now that he’s learned he’s fireproof. He only prays that it won’t be so big that Shiro and Krolia get caught in it.

His fire just makes contact with the gun as a blur of white interrupts Keith’s view.

A van speeds into place between him and the Galra, wheels screeching the vehicle to a halt. The side door flies open, and the last thing Keith sees before the explosion detonates is a boy about his age and a blinding flash of blue light.

The silence—the lack of an explosion—is deafening.

Keith looks up from where he’s curled up behind his protective arms and is greeted with the sight of a gentle blue dome surrounding him. The fizzling walls of the dome encompass him, Shiro, Krolia, Kosmo, and the white van that seemed to pull itself from another dimension.

The boy who opened the van door lowers his arms, and the blue dome fades from sight.

Keith opens his mouth, excitement on his tongue. It must be another one of the numbers. But before he can get anything out, the boy’s eyes light up as he glances at something over Keith’s shoulder.

“Aw! A puppy!”

Someone with a mess of short brown hair and owl-eye glasses pokes her head out from deeper inside the van.

“A puppy?” she asks.

The driver-side window rolls down, revealing another boy in a bright orange headband. “A puppy!”

Keith, Krolia, and Shiro stare dumbly at the three strangers. There’s not really a sense of danger—not really. The vibes that roll off this trio are definitely friendly. It’s just that—well, Keith thought it would be much harder to find another number. Let alone three at the same time.

One quick glance at the identical necklaces they wear confirms it.

Kosmo bounds over to the truck and happily accepts all the attention from three pairs of hands. His eyes squint in bliss, tongue hanging out.

And if that isn’t enough proof that these guys can be trusted, Keith doesn’t know what would be.

“I’m Lance,” says the boy who conjured the protective shield around them, “and you folks are coming with us.”

His voice drawls when he says it, and he has the audacity to wink and throw finger guns at Keith. Keith doesn’t know how to respond to any of that, mind reeling that _Lance_ would talk like that to perfect strangers, in front of his _Mom, for fuck’s sake_.

“The Galra,” Shiro finally says. He cranes his neck to try and see around the truck. Keith’s guess is that the Galra is dead. The blast was enough to take out the windows and glass doors of the convenience store a few yards away. “Is he—?”

The girl with the wild hair shushes him with a sharp hiss. “No questions out here. Too many ears.”

“Come on, boy!” the driver pats the side of the van, inviting Kosmo inside. “Oh, man, I’m so pumped we get to hang out with a dog. Does he have a name?”

Keith does the biggest _fuck it_ mental shrug and climbs into the van with his dog. Krolia and Shiro slide in after him, and there are surprisingly enough seats for everyone.

Surprising, because in the back row, there are three more people wearing pleasant smiles and holding alien-like guns in their laps.

Keith eyes the three extra people, the guns, and the van door that’s slowly slid closed behind them. “Uh… Kosmo.”

“Sweet boy, Kosmo,” the driver coos, evidently all too happy to have a travel companion up in the front seat with him. He starts to drive off, and Keith wants to ask where they’re headed.

Keith wants to ask a lot of things, actually.

“So. Introductions,” the girl with the big glasses says, settling into her seat. “You’ve met Lance.” She gestures to the flirty one, who promptly strikes a pose at hearing his name. “I’m Pidge, and the guy up front driving and plotting to steal your dog is Hunk.”

Krolia introduces herself and the boys in turn. “I’m Keith’s protector, and his mother. He’s Number Two. Shiro is One.”

“One, huh?” Lance asks, immediately locking onto Shiro. “That’s a heavy burnden you’ve got on your shoulders. I’m Three, so I kind of get the pressure us high numbers feel. Thanks for not being dead, though.”

Shiro gapes a little at Lance’s frankness, and Keith doesn’t blame him.

Pidge leans over and smacks Lance’s arm. “Don’t be a dick, Lance.” She turns to Keith and Shiro. “I’m Four, by the way.”

“Five,” Hunk chimes in.

Keith tries to keep himself from hoping too much as his eyes drift back over to the three sitting in the back. “Then… is one of you Six?”

An ethereally beautiful girl with blonde hair shakes her head. “Unfortunately, we still do not know where Six is. We are just the protectors.”

“Romelle,” Hunk chides, glancing in the rearview mirror. “You aren’t _just_ protectors.”

The girl, Romelle, just laughs lightly. “Well, you heard that I’m Romelle. My friends here next to me are Matt and Veronica.”

Veronica wears a smart pair of glasses and keeps half of her short dark hair tied up in a bun. Matt, bearing a striking resemblance to Pidge, sits squished in the middle between the two girls, looking all too pleased about it.

Keith has no idea how he’s going to keep all these names straight.

“I’ve been meaning to ask where we’re going,” Krolia chimes in, and Keith is glad she did. There are no windows in the back of the van, so all the turns and bumps and tunnels they’ve encountered so far are leaving him disoriented as ever.

“Our hideout,” Lance answers. “It’s pretty cool, all unsuspecting and unpopulated. Perfect for training and plotting out schemes and such. We all live there.”

“Like a big family,” Hunk says.

Keith looks down at his hands in his lap and suppresses a smile. He doesn’t know these people—hell, he’s not even sure if he’s going to like half of these people—but he’s happy to think that they’ve found each other. It seemed so easy, it’s a wonder it’s taken eighteen years.

“Where’s the hideout located?” Shiro asks. He sounds happy, too.

“We’re here, actually,” Hunk answers, and the van stops.

Pidge pulls the door open for everyone to pour out. Keith’s shoes meet a warbled concrete ground, and a strong, cool breeze cuts through his hair. The New York skyline is still right there, close to them, but waiting before them is a massive barge docked at the pier they’re parked on.

Seagulls crow overhead, riding the wind. The barge floats gently up and down with the waves below—Keith can hear them lapping against the rusty steel walls of the pier.

The entire area looks like a ghost town, an abandoned industrial park with scraps and empty ships everywhere.

He doesn’t think he’s seen anything cooler in his life.

“Cool,” he hears himself mutter. He turns in a slow circle to take in the surroundings, and his eyes land on Shiro with a big grin on his face.

Shiro’s arm flexes subtly, hand raising to chest level. A nearby ship anchor—an ancient, black thing—floats up gently and bobs in place. With a twitch of his fingers, Shiro folds the anchor in on itself. The metal groans, dropping rust like snow onto the concrete. By now, everyone’s heads are turned toward him.

“I think I’m going to like it here,” he says, only to Keith, but the others hear, too.

“Pretty sweet, huh?” Pidge says. Shiro unfolds the anchor and puts it back where it belongs like it hasn’t been touched in decades. Pidge pulls out a tiny tablet and scrolls through camera feeds on the screen. “We’ve got this place under wraps. Heat sensors, long-range radar, cameras and microphones everywhere. The Galra have never been able to surprise us here. Plus, like Lance said, it’s far enough away from the city that we don’t have to worry about human intruders, yet close enough that they mask our scent from the Galra.”

“Seems like the perfect place to hide,” Keith says, maybe a little too wistfully.

“Where are you guys from?” Pidge asks, glancing up from her screen.

“... The desert.”

“Have you ever heard of the Galaxy Garrison?” Shiro asks.

Hunk’s jaw drops. “No way.”

“Were you _students_ there?” Pidge asks in disbelief.

“We were,” Shiro confirms with a proud smile.

Keith scoffs. “Shiro was more than just a student. He was the highest-ranked student and youngest graduate.”

“That’s like a dream come true!” Pidge shouts excitedly. “The Galaxy Garrison has the latest space exploration technology program that this sad, primitive planet has ever seen! And you got to fly under the radar as an actual alien? That’s the best kind of irony.”

“So you’re into space?” Shiro asks, easing into conversation.

“Well, it’s cool to learn about where we came from. Even if some of the humans’ tech is a little archaic compared to what we used to have on Altea.”

“Aren’t you a little young to remember the planet?” Keith blurts out, unable to hide his light scoff.

“I’ve heard a lot from Matt and Veronica. They remember it a lot more clearly than I do.” Pidge adjusts her glasses and goes back to poking at her tablet.

Matt—Keith is mostly certain—rubs his hand through Pidge’s hair and musses it even more. “That’s right. Pidge here was just a little baby when we took off. I didn’t know our elders could tell she was gifted so early on, but I sure am glad they did.”

Pidge grumbles at Matt’s smothering and swats his arm away. They _have_ to be related.

“That is good news,” Shiro agrees. “What’s your gift?”

He gets nothing in response from Pidge, other than a pout and a twitch of her eyebrow. Matt chuckles. “She hasn’t gotten it yet.”

All at once, Keith feels less bad about being such a newbie with his own gift. At least he’s not the most inexperienced member of the team now, though he can definitely sympathize with Pidge’s situation.

“It’ll come,” Keith finds himself saying. “When you least expect it.”

“That’s what Matt tells me all the time,” Pidge mutters.

“Because it’s true, kiddo,” Matt says warmly.

Lance clears his throat and smirks. “Not to brag or anything, but my gift arrived pretty early on. I guess you could say I mature quickly.”

“Your gift is the only mature thing about you,” Hunk chimes in, and everyone else around him laughs.

“Don’t be jealous!” Lance argues. His hands rest on his hips in defiance.

Shiro, ever the peacemaker, even with strangers, asks, “Yours is the force field, right? You saved us back by the gas station.”

“Oh, that was nothing,” Lance humblebrags, flipping some hair off his forehead. “I can also do…” he pauses dramatically. Keith catches Pidge rolling her eyes. Lance suddenly disappears from view in a shimmering blue light.

“He does this _all the time_ ,” Hunk groans.

Lance reappears with an identical glitter of light, standing directly in front of Shiro. “This!”

Kosmo barks happily, jumping up to Lance, his new kin. Lance scratches behind his ear.

Shiro laughs. “We’ve seen that a few times before.”

On cue, Kosmo vanishes and reappears in Lance’s arms. He evidently isn’t expecting to carry a massive dog, so they both fall to the ground in a heap with an “Oof!”. Kosmo is still pleased with himself, sitting on top of Lance’s chest and basically smushing him out of existence.

“Hey! Your dog is copying me!” Lance complains. But his hands come up from underneath the mountain of fur to scratch around Kosmo’s neck.

“Actually, you’re copying my dog,” Keith corrects.

“Fascinating.” Pidge pushes at her glasses and kneels down next to Kosmo, making no move to help Lance up. “He’s from Altea, then?”

Keith nods. “Couldn’t leave him behind.”

“As you shouldn’t,” Hunk adds, half indignant. He pets Kosmo, too, adding to the plethora of people lined up to give him more attention than he’s ever known. Keith hasn’t thought about leaving the other numbers, but now he sees that Kosmo is already too attached to them to go anywhere. “Because he’s such a good boy, isn’t he? A perfect, poofy puppy.”

Krolia looks on to the pile on the ground, arms folded and smiling gently. “What about you, Hunk? What is your gift?”

Hunk reluctantly stands and dusts off his hands. “Here’s the thing,” he says, talking with his hands. “My gift is stupid, so don’t ask me to show you. Basically, I’m pretty much indestructible. At least from the outside, that is. I’d actually gone years without knowing my gift had revealed itself because, like, how would I even know to test it out? You wanna know how I eventually found out?”

“He got hit by a bus,” Pidge finishes impatiently.

Shiro raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“And _the bus_ broke,” Lance adds from somewhere underneath a dog.

Keith whistles and smirks. “That must have been a sight for the humans.”

“The cellphone footage was rampant on the internet. It was a nightmare,” Hunk says.

“That was one of my first clues that there were other numbers in New York,” Krolia says. “Not everyone can stand their ground when hit with a vehicle going forty miles per hour. And no one can dent the front bumper like that in the process.”

Hunk drags a palm down his face, groaning. “So yeah, I don’t like my gift because I can’t _use_ it for anything. Plus, Pidge likes to chuck things at me and see them break against my face. Which is not. fun. Pidge!”

Pidge shrugs her innocence away. “It’s for science.”

“You make me flinch and it’s embarrassing!”

“I’m trying to condition you. Flinching is a response against pain, but getting hit with stuff doesn’t cause you pain. So you don’t have to flinch!” she defends.

They bicker some more, and even Romelle gets into to. Keith first thought Romelle was a shy girl, but she sure knows how to cuss out Hunk for being an apparent baby when it comes to fighting. Lance throws in a few unhelpful opinions. Keith looks to his mother and Shiro as if to ask them what they hell kind of family they got themselves into. Krolia looks happy with them, probably already thinking up battle strategies utilizing everyone’s powers. Shiro gives him a small grin and rests a hand on his shoulder.

Keith gets a little lost in that look, which is why he doesn’t immediately notice that the arguing has ceased, and everyone has turned their attention to him.

“What?” He blinks at them defensively.

Lance, sitting up with Kosmo in a more tolerable position, snorts. “You haven’t told us what your gift is.”

“Oh,” Keith says, and he looks down at his hands. Some excitement bubbles up in his lungs, because why would he just tell them if he can show them?

Raising one hand, Keith summons a fire to ignite and surround his palm down to the wrist. Hunk makes an “Oooh” sound. Keith looks at each of their faces and sees the light reflecting in their eyes. He has to tamper down the pride that wells up inside him, but he really likes how they all look at him like he’s the coolest person they’ve ever seen. If he’s honest with himself, though, he’d definitely pick fire over teleportation or invincibility any day.

…

Keith’s body almost breaks apart by the end of the day. He didn’t have time to think about how tired he’s gotten, but considering where they were this morning, and where they are now, so much has changed that it really feels like a whole week has gone by.

After showing the group his gift, they were led on board the massive cargo barge that served as a floating home. The vessel was just that—a shell with hardly anything left inside. There are plenty of rooms for everyone to have their own space. Hunk and Pidge had engineered a kitchen and some bathrooms, dotted randomly throughout the halls. Keith saw the helm where, at one point, a captain would have ordered his crew around and piloted this behemoth ship across the globe.

The hallways are encased in a plain dark steel, and there’s hardly any decoration to break up all the gray. Pidge, Matt, and Lance filled their rooms with video games. Hunk has a few pictures taped to the wall. Romelle doesn’t have much of anything besides a few books. Veronica’s room is scattered with weights and a terrifying assortment of weapons.

One room is the envy of all, covered from floor to ceiling with expensive looking computer screens, radar, cameras, and even a drone. “The Hub,” was what Pidge called it.

Matt, Keith learns, is Pidge’s protector and older brother, which explains everything.

Veronica is Lance’s protector and older sister, which explains nothing. Already from what Keith can tell, their personalities are completely opposite of each other. For one, Lance is loud and kind of dumb and flirty. Veronica is suave and intelligent. And flirty. Maybe they are related.

Romelle is Hunk’s protector and “… just a friend.” To which Romelle huffed and scolded him with “I’m the best thing that has ever happened to you, and you know it!”

For dinner, they warmed up canned beans and some pizzas that were delivered via Lance’s teleportation. When they finished eating, the sun had already gone down. From the top deck of the barge, Keith thinks the New York City lights on the horizon look like stars. The light pollution hides the real ones from view, and Keith is reminded of how far away from the desert they are.

God, he’s exhausted.

“Hey.”

Keith knows before turning around from his spot on the railing that it’s Shiro. He still turns, because seeing Shiro’s face makes him happy.

The light wind ruffles the white of his hair as he walks up to join Keith at the railing.

“Hey,” he says back, going to look at the skyline again. He’s never seen a bigger city.

“Crazy day, huh? My mind is still rushing to keep up with it all,” Shiro sighs.

“Yeah,” Keith agrees. “To think we came out here looking for them, but they ended up finding us.”

“And saving our asses,” Shiro adds with a chuckle.

Keith smiles and faces the other way, putting his back to the city and propping both elbows on the railing. The wind pushes his hair away from his face now, and he angles his head to watch Shiro watch the waves.

He’s content to just look at him, until Shiro says, “I think tonight will be the first night we can sleep without having to worry about anything.”

The sentiment hits Keith in the chest. He didn’t think Shiro thought about that, the implication that he, too, goes to bed every night wondering if a Galra will show up while he’s vulnerable.

They can let go of that, now. This place feels safe, and Keith doesn’t know why, but he already trusts these other Alteans like they were his family.

“You sounded like you slept just fine in the car yesterday, judging by how loud you were snoring,” Keith can’t help.

Shiro’s jaw drops in betrayal. “I wasn’t.”

“You were.” A smirk creeps up on Keith’s lips.

“Damn.” Shiro shakes his head in dismay. “That’s embarrassing.”

Keith brings a hand up to his mouth to hide some of the giggles that escape him. “It was kind of cute,” he says without meaning to.

Shiro is swayed, but in a wonderful way. “Cute, huh?”

His playful and warm expression makes Keith look away in case his own face decides to warm up. “Kind of,” he repeats.

“I hope I wasn’t snoring in bed last night, too.” Shiro plants the suggestion in Keith’s brain. He didn’t have to say it like that, but now Keith’s thinking about it, and he’s not at all surprised by how much he likes it.

Keith shakes his head, hand going back to grip the railing like he’s in danger of falling overboard. He kind of has already, in a way. “You were perfect.”

He pushes off the railing with the intention of heading inside. He has no idea what time it is, but it won’t really matter because he’s going to knock the fuck out as soon as he gets to bed. He was given his own room and one of the extra futons from their new friends. Shiro and Krolia have their own rooms, too, but now Keith is thinking that he’ll have to be alone in an empty room when just last night he was cuddled up with Shiro fast asleep. It feels lonier to go back to single occupancy.

Shiro is in front of him, between Keith and the door to the lower deck. He’s standing close, and a hand comes to wrap around one of Keith’s as naturally as all the times they’ve done before. Keith wants to drag him to bed and say nothing. He wants to bring Shiro’s warmth with him wherever he goes.

Whatever Shiro is thinking behind those intense, beautiful eyes, it causes him to raise Keith’s hand up to his face and press his knuckles to his cheek. When he sighs out, his breath rushes over Keith’s face.

“How are you always so warm?” Shiro asks, which is funny because Keith was just wondering the same thing about him.

He wants Shiro to kiss him, but he doesn’t know why.

Well, he knows _why_. Because Shiro is gorgeous and kind and dorky, and he’s Keith’s best friend and Keith probably loves him. But he has no idea where that came from. He thinks maybe he should be scared, but that doesn’t feel right.

He strokes Shiro’s cheek with his thumb, brushing just underneath the edge of his scar. Shiro closes his eyes against the touch, and when he opens them again, he’s looking directly at Keith’s mouth. Keith thinks he might actually kiss him, and he licks his lips in subconscious anticipation.

Shiro’s head lowers by a fraction. Keith decides to help him along and leans up on his toes, hand sliding behind Shiro’s neck. There’s an adorable intake of breath on Shiro’s part, but then his shoulders stiffen as if it just now clicks what Keith is about to do.

“Keith.”

He sounds disappointed. Shiro’s frown makes him look sad.

Keith retracts his hand and backs up two whole feet. He’s used to fire, but the redness in his cheeks actually burns him.

“Sorry,” Shiro forces out, rubbing the back of his neck where Keith’s hand has just been. “It’s just a bad idea if we… and we shouldn’t.”

“No need to apologize. _I’m_ sorry,” Keith says in a low voice, eyes and mood falling to the floor. He steps around Shiro and pats his shoulder as he passes. “Goodnight.”

“Keith, I…” Shiro calls after him, but Keith doesn’t turn back around.

He goes straight inside, hoping that it doesn’t look like he’s running away even though that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

Inside his ten by ten room, Keith closes and seals the door and realizes he was going to bed alone tonight no matter what.


	5. Chapter 5

He sleeps through the night, but fitfully. By the time dawn breaks, Keith has dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. The others trickle in one by one not long after he arrives. Hunk goes straight for the coffee machine, then to the fridge.

“Hungry for anything?” Hunk asks with his head buried in the ice box. The brewing coffee is starting to smell really good.

“Whatever’s on the menu,” Keith provides.

“Then allow me to, kindly, blow your mind, sir.” Hunk emerges from the fridge with arms full of ingredients. He dumps them on the counter and grins at Keith like he has a secret. “Cuisine de Hunk is now open for business.”

“You’re in for a treat,” Pidge says from where she sits huddled in front of a laptop with Matt and Veronica.

Keith’s stomach responds for him with a gratuitous gurgle.

The kitchen fills with the scent of creamy eggs and crispy potatoes when Krolia walks in, tailed by Shiro. Keith’s stomach responds again, this time by flipping in his gut and reminding him what happened last night.

Shiro looks right at him and smiles like he always does. Keith returns it with a grin that he knows doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and he goes back to watching Hunk putter around the kitchen, elbows propped up on the counter. That’s about all he can handle, but Shiro doesn’t know that, because he takes the liberty of sitting right next to Keith in an empty barstool.

Keith fights a blush and forces himself to start a conversation. “Sleep okay?”

“Better than I thought,” Shiro replies, voice smooth. “The rocking of the boat really did wonders for me.”

“She’s a _ship_ ,” Lance says as he strolls into the kitchen, the last of all to show up, wearing… slippers. Keith’s eyebrows twitches. “Not a boat.”

“She’s a hunk of metal is what she is,” Pidge contributes.

“Did someone say my name?” Hunk calls over his shoulder, moving a spatula around in a pan. “I can’t leave the mushrooms right now. It’s gonna have to wait.”

“I said ‘hunk,’ not ‘Hunk,’” Pidge clarifies. Keith catches the smirk on her face.

“I’m not hearing a difference,” Hunk says.

Matt walks the laptop over to the counter where Shiro and Keith sit. He shows them the screen, tabbing through 3D renderings of an old-fashioned cargo ship. “She used to be magnificent. I scanned her a while back and mocked up these designs to see what she would have looked like when she was operational.”

Shiro indulges Matt with a few questions about the ship’s history, to which Matt enthusiastically rattles off answers. It looks like any other boat to Keith, so he slides out of his stool and goes to hover by Hunk’s shoulder.

“Just in time, buddy.” Hunk turns around with a steaming pan of heavenly smelling food. “Soup’s up. I’ll plate, you pass.”

Keith hands out helpings of steaming food to everyone in the kitchen. It’s a distinctly homey atmosphere, listening to the various conversations, clattering forks, and universal hums of approval around how tasty the food is. Shiro and Matt, Keith tunes in, are still discussing the specs of the ship.

“We checked out the helm yesterday,” Shiro says. By his tone, he’s fully immersed in the topic now. Without really meaning to, Keith takes his seat back next to Shiro to guiltily bask in his proximity even if he royally screwed their relationship. “I know she’s old, but she still looks functional. Have you ever gotten her to start up?”

When Keith sits down, Shiro adjusts his body language to politely include him in the conversation even though he’d rather be a fly on the wall.

Matt shakes his head. “Hunk and I have tried tinkering with her a few times, but we either don’t have the right parts or the right angle of approach. She’s probably just too rusted to do anything but float now.”

“Mind if I take a look?” Shiro asks with a modest half-shrug.

“That’s right, you were an engineer at the Galaxy Garrison, weren’t you?” Matt does nothing to hide the admiration in his voice.

Keith snorts. “A _spacecraft_ engineer. I’m not sure how much that you help you with fixing a boat from last century.”

“A boat should be a walk in the park, then,” Shiro jokes. He nudges Keith with his elbow, and the brief contact makes his whole body flare up. It’s embarrassing. He used to never react to something so small like this around Shiro. How ridiculous it is to think that he developed this unfortunate crush on his best friend overnight.

_It wasn’t just overnight_ , says the voice in the back of his head.

“Ship!” Lance nags from across the room. It goes ignored.

“Absolutely,” Matt says in response to Shiro’s question. “The more eyes, the better. Maybe later I can take you out on the scaffolding to show you around the exterior.”

Shiro stands and strides over to the wall. “No need,” he says with no further explanation. He places his hand, the one with the prosthetic, on the metal wall and closes his eyes. By now, all the others in the room have ceased their conversations to watch him with curious expressions. Keith thinks he knows what it’s about, but then Shiro opens his eyes and gestures with his free hand for Matt to get closer.

Shiro touches his arm. Matt blinks, and his face lights up a moment later.

“ _Oh_ ,” Matt breathes in realization. “The connection between the turbine and the propellor is severed.”

With a smile, Shiro nods. He makes eye contact with Keith, whose confusion must be plastered all over his face. So Shiro beckons him. “Come take a look.”

Keith floats out of his chair and goes to touch his fingers against Shiro’s outstretched palm. His picture of the man standing in front of him fades into something else entirely. It seems he’s standing in a dark, cold room with a massive boiler—devoid of any coal or fire. The vision takes him from the boiler room into a narrow passageway, where he sees that one cable among hundreds has crumbled and broken apart.

Reality floods back to Keith, and he stares at Shiro.

“Was that…”

He nods again. “Remember I told you I can read entire metal structures with just one touch? Well, I can show what I see to other people.”

“Cool,” Keith mutters in reply. Shiro already has such a powerful hold on his gift. Keith doesn’t think any aspect of his fire can be shared with other people. Gifts like Lance’s, probably, lend themselves well to multi-person usage. It seems helpful; meanwhile, Keith’s is just destructive.

His musings—and his physical person—are shoved aside by an enamored Pidge, who yells, “I wanna see!” and all but slaps her hand on Shiro’s wrist. Shiro laughs and takes her on a virtual psychic tour of her own ship. Lance queues up behind her, and soon everyone wants their turn to see what Shiro can do. Even Krolia succumbs to her own curiosity.

“I’m no expert,” she says, “but it seems like replacing the cable would solve the issue.”

“There are tons of shops in the city that should carry something similar to what we need.” Pidge hides her face behind the tablet again. “Even if we don’t find a perfect fit, I’m good at putting puzzles together.”

“This is incredible,” Matt says. He hasn’t stopped smiling since he and Shiro started talking about repairing the ship. “We could very possibly set sail and go wherever we wanted. And we could take everything with us! No packing up and stealing cars and having to resettle somewhere else.”

“Where would we go?” Keith asks, leaning against the kitchen counter. The ‘we’ on his tongue feels nice.

“To find Number Six,” Veronica provides. “Once we have all of us, we’ll be able to mount an attack on the Galra with a scale that we as individuals could ever achieve.”

“We should focus our efforts on narrowing down the likely locations they could be hiding,” Krolia says. “Do you have any clues yet?”

“Nothing substantial, but I can show you what we have so far.”

Krolia and Veronica exit the room and head off to their central command. Even thinking about sitting at a computer bores Keith, so he remains with the rest of the group.

“Shiro!” Lance perks up. “Can you show me how to give other people your gift? I wanna know if I can teleport more than just myself.”

“The best advice I can give you is to practice,” Shiro explains. “It needs to be stretched like a muscle.”

Kosmo, who’d been making his rounds in the kitchen to see if he could con anyone into giving him scraps, nudges against Lance’s side.

“Kosmo could show you a thing or two,” Keith tells Lance. “He zaps me around from place to place all the time.”

Lance rubs Kosmo’s head and kneels down to him. “And I bet he would be the best teacher ever, wouldn’t he?”

Kosmo answers with an affirmative lick to the face.

“Race you to the top deck?” Lance asks. Kosmo barks and vanishes in a flash. Lance is right behind him, but not before throwing finger guns at Shiro and Keith and bidding them, “Hasta la later.”

Pidge tugs on Matt’s sleeve and informs him that there’s a level in a video game that she needs help beating. The two siblings march off to go play—and Keith quotes—“Voltron: Defenders of the Universe - Return of Lord Zarkon.” The title is interesting enough, and Keith almost wants to go watch, but video games were never really his thing. Plus, he’s guessing that if it’s a stressful level to beat, then he wouldn’t want to be around Pidge when her paladin goes down for the seventh time in a row.

Hunk has long since been hacking away at the dishes from breakfast. The trade-off for having such a delicious meal is that it takes an armada of equipment to prepare, and Hunk has a mountain to get through. That’s not including the plates and utensils for the nine people—plus one dog and Matt’s and Lance’s second helpings—who ate this morning.

Keith thinks he finally found something to do, but he’s interrupted by a groan from Romelle.

“Ugh, why can’t we use paper plates and pans?” She stations herself next to the sink and starts drying off dishes one by one.

“Paper pans don’t exist,” Hunk says.

“They should exist,” Romelle declares.

“You don’t have to help me with the dishes, you know,” he reminds her.

Romelle shoots him a glare. “I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart.”

“You’re scary when you’re nice.”

Shiro catches Keith’s gaze from across the room. He smiles and nods toward the door, prompting Keith to follow as he leaves the kitchen and Hunk and Romelle to their—reluctant, apparently—chores. Keith follows him out, and by process of elimination, they manage to be the only two left alone.

“Seems like everyone here has their own little routine. Even your mom,” Shiro says.

Keith watches and listens to their synched-up footsteps echoing down the metal hallway. “I think being around more Alteans makes her feel like she’s back home.”

“I’m happy we found everyone else, too.”

“Mm.”

The weight of the silence between them hangs on Keith’s shoulders. All of a sudden, he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to act around Shiro. He wants to bring up what happened between them last night while simultaneously wanting to forget it happened altogether. He can’t help but let himself think that he messed up something, stepped over some invisible line that he was never worried about before.

Whether or not Shiro is uncomfortable in the silence, he breaks it and says, “Do you have plans for today?”

Keith, being so wrapped up in his own slippery slope of insecurities, hadn’t even considered what to do with all the hours of the day. To be honest, he’d probably fill most of them with training. “Not really.”

“I was thinking about going out to explore the city. I’ve never seen New York before,” Shiro says.

“Sounds fun.”

“Do you want to come with me?”

Shiro stops at the door that leads to his loaned bedroom. Keith stops with him and considers it.

As awkward as he feels, maybe Shiro is feeling nothing at all. Maybe the drama from last night is all in Keith’s head, and Shiro doesn’t think anything went wrong between them. He lets himself hope.

“Sure.”

Shiro smiles. “Great. Meet you on the deck in thirty minutes?”

Keith agrees, and he spends the next half hour making sure he doesn’t smell bad and his hair looks nice.

…

They close their eyes and pick a random spot on the map to get off the subway at. It’s loud, crowded, dirty, and Keith feels completely comfortable. The subway squeals away on the tracks as he and Shiro ascend the stairs and step onto an unfamiliar bustling street.

Wherever they are, the tourism blends into the residential, and Keith wonders how the people who live here deal with it all the time.

Hands shoved in his pockets, Keith follows close to Shiro’s side to avoid bumping into random strangers who seem to either not see or not care that he is there. Shiro leads aimlessly down one side of the street. There aren’t any landmarks Keith recognizes—no Times Square or Central Park or Statue of Liberty, which should be expected because Keith doesn’t really know that many landmarks anyway. But there is an occasional McDonald’s or Dunkin Donuts, two of Keith’s favorite human inventions that help make life on an alien planet and in an alien city just a little bit better.

Shiro drags Keith by the elbow into a random shop. The floor, shelves, and walls are littered with random mechanical parts. Keith accidentally kicks an empty batter box, which sends it clattering along the linoleum floor. It’s not a very glamorous place, but Keith would prefer it over a touristy destination.

“Any reason we’re in here?” he asks, digging through a box of loose, miscellaneous spark plugs. They’re old and rusted enough that they would fit perfectly with the dirt bike he had to abandon in the desert.

“Pidge did say we might find the cables we need for the ship somewhere in the city,” Shiro answers. “I figured I could keep an eye out for some.”

Keith ditches the plugs and goes back to following Shiro around the store. “You’re really invested in this boat, huh?”

He nearly expects Lance to appear out of nowhere just to yell at him for using the B word again.

“I miss working on stuff, using my hands.” Keith watches from over his shoulder as Shiro closes and slowly opens his right fist. “It’s been a while since I got to work on something big.”

Keith sees the connection between Shiro’s gift and his chosen field of study at the Garrison. Being an engineer for large craft probably helped him focus his ability to control metal—maybe he was so good at it _because_ of his power, or vice versa. He sympathizes, even though he can’t really compare his own power to Shiro’s attraction to engineering. What would Keith do? Be a firefighter, maybe? Seems cliche.

Shiro ends up buying a coil of black cables, and then they’re back out on the crowded street. Amidst the borderline foul fumes that permeate every gutter and alleyway, something actually smells delicious, and now it’s Keith’s turn to aimlessly float over to where his impulse is taking him. A street vendor selling churros is the source of the pleasant scent.

Keith doesn’t realize he’s making puppy eyes at the food, but it prompts Shiro to buy each of them their own dessert. Keith’s is filled with chocolate in the middle.

“Wanna go find somewhere to sit and enjoy these?” Shiro suggests.

Keith would have been perfectly content to tear the paper away from his churro and go to town on it right there in the street, but he waits.

Figuring they’ll stumble across a quiet area at some point or another, they begin to wander around. They walk in what might actually be a circle, and Shiro bashfully comments that he maybe got them lost, then pulls out his phone.

“Oh,” he says in delight. “It looks like there’s a park about a block away.”

Keith says nothing, though he is slightly amused by the situation. Shiro holds onto his phone just in case he might manage to turn them around again before actually reaching the park.

The tress do something to block out the sounds of traffic. It isn’t perfectly quiet where they sit on the bench in front of a flowerbed, but it is a bit more peaceful. Birds hop along the cobblestone footpath in search of crumbs. A mom pushes her baby in a stroller and hums it a little lullaby.

“Not bad,” Keith murmurs as he takes the first bite of his food.

“The park or the churro?” Shiro asks with a light laugh.

“The whole city,” Keith answers around a mouthful.

Shiro peels the paper back and takes small bites, as opposed to Keith’s graceful wolfing. “Really? You’re liking this place so far?”

Keith nods before he can talk.

“I find it kind of, I don’t know. Cold, for my taste.”

Keith turns his head to see Shiro chewing throughtfully, eyebrows drawn together.

“The city or the churro?” he asks, keeping a straight face until Shiro looks at him with one cheek stuffed full, then he breaks out into a grin and laughs.

Shiro hides a smile behind his hand until he swallows the bite. “The city. The churro is perfect.”

“Takashi Churrogane,” Keith articulates in a flash of brilliance, followed by a snort at his own joke. Shiro chuckles and shakes his head in disapproval. _Judge all you want, that pun was beautiful_.

“But really. What is it about this place that you like?” Shiro asks. “It’s messy and grungy… and suddenly I’m starting to see why you’re attracted to it.”

“Hey, not everything I’m attracted to is grungy,” Keith can’t help himself. He catches the way Shiro’s eyebrow lifts in intrigue. “It’s anonymous. That’s what I like about it.”

Shiro settles his back against the park bench. “I see. You feels safer surrounded by people in case the Galra start following our trail?”

“That,” Keith admits. He’s more afraid of another attack than he lets on, but he supposes Shiro can read into him like that. “And there are plenty of distractions. No sitting around in a shack waiting for something bad to happen.” He mourns the loss of his delightful churro and sucks some smeared chocolate off of his fingertips.

“Would you say you prefer a place like this over your home back in the desert?”

It’s a tougher question than Keith anticipates. On one hand, the city feels safer and less suffocating than the loneliness out in the middle of nowhere, if that makes any sense. But he also loved the desert. He loved their shitty little shack and pretending he and Krolia were the only two people on the planet.

He misses it, but he wouldn’t go back. Bigger and better things are ahead of them. Keith explains as much to Shiro, then adds, “What about you? Do you like where we are right now?”

He can’t tell why—a shift in Shiro’s shoulders, maybe—but the air around them changes subtly.

“I do like where we are, Keith.” Shiro meets Keith’s eyes, wets his lips, and suddenly they definitely aren’t talking about New York anymore. “I think we should talk about what happened last night.”

Keith should have changed the subject when he had the chance.

He sighs, looks at the ground.

“What happened last night?” he asks, and he braces himself for the inevitable ‘you tried to kiss me, but I don’t see you like that, and I don’t know why you thought it would be okay.’ Keith even prepares a semi-defense of himself, thinking that he could just brush it off with a ‘don’t worry about it, I didn’t mean anything by it, I’m not after you or anything.’

Shiro folds his hands together, but then he unlaces his fingers and wipes his palms down the front of his pants.

“When we were talking on the deck,” here it comes, “joking around and everything, it was a lot of fun. I like being around you, Keith. I don’t know what it was, maybe a spur of the moment kind of thing, but I… I wanted to kiss you. I had to stop myself from letting it happen.”

Keith’s stomach does a flip—a complete one-eighty. He blinks, gaze shooting up to meet Shiro’s. “You _wanted_ to kiss me?”

“I do,” Shiro says, and he quickly corrects himself. “I did, but—”

“Why didn’t you?” Keith interrupts. He may be coming off a little aggressive, but it’s only because of the utter relief he feels that this didn’t turn out to be the opposite situation. Really, it could be so much worse.

Shiro’s eyebrows draw together in response. “It would be wrong for us.”

“Because we’re friends?” Keith throws out. “Look, I understand if you don’t see me like that.”

“But I _do_ see you like that, Keith, and that’s why it would be wrong,” Shiro says, making no sense.

“I’m not following at all,” Keith says.

Shiro’s hand comes over and rests on top of Keith’s. His fingers tighten with a reassuring weight around him. “It’s dangerous. I think it’s for the best if we don’t fan our feelings.”

Keith’s head feels light. Shiro said ‘our’ feelings, connoting some kind of reciprocation. So Shiro feels the same way for Keith as Keith does for him, to some degree.

So why does it still feel like a rejection?

“Why not?” Keith presses. “If we both want the same thing, then—”

“I could lose you.”

Keith clamps his mouth shut, processes. When he glances up at Shiro, he sees hurt in his eyes. Shiro is looking at him like he could be taken away, and Keith remembers that he’s already been through that, when he lost Adam.

“You won’t lose me,” Keith promises. He turns his hand over and squeezes Shiro’s in return. “If anything happens, I’d be the one losing you.”

“I would never want to put you through that, which is why we need to be careful.”

“That’s the thing, Shiro.” Keith turns on the bench and faces him, one leg tucked up underneath him. His hand slips from Shiro’s, only to come to rest on his shoulder where his finger dig into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m never going to let anything happen to you.”

The sentiment doesn’t seem to make Shiro feel any more sure of himself. He tightens his lips and lets out a breath. “Keith.”

Keith wouldn’t sing praises to his instincts, but when he follows his impulses, he tends to come out okay. So when something—the conversation, the look on Shiro’s face, his own desperation, whatever—urges him to press forward and lay everything he has on the table, well, he does.

With one knee pressed against the metal bench, Keith lifts himself up toward Shiro, hand supporting him on Shiro’s shoulder, and kisses him. Shiro’s intake of breath through his nose is right there in Keith’s face. He feels Shiro inhale, tense up, and relax not even a second later. Keith closes his eyes and presses harder, savoring the feeling of Shiro against him, because it might be the only chance he’ll have in his lifetime to know what kissing Shiro feels like. And it feels nice. It feels like he’s going to want to kiss him again and again and again until the Galra come and kill everyone on the planet and conquer the universe.

For a moment, New York City doesn’t feel so crowded anymore. For a moment, it just feels like the two of them.

Keith breaks the kiss because they’re still in public. When his eyes flutter open, he catches Shiro staring at his mouth until his gaze flicks back up.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Keith repeats. “And by that logic, then waiting until the war is over would just be stupid. But if you want to wait, then I’ll wait for you.”

Point made, he sits back down in a heap and steals Shiro’s unfinished churro.

Shiro shakes his head in exasperation, but there’s no denying the grin on his face. Keith’s stomach flutters with butterflies and cinnamon.

“I completely understand why your gift is fire,” Shiro tells him. “You’re burning me up.”

…

By the time they return to the ship, it’s almost dinner. Kosmo comes to greet Keith first, popping into view and almost tackling him down to the concrete. Keith rubs circles into the sides of his fluffy neck.

“Hey, buddy. Have a good day?”

Lance appears before them to answer the question, taking Veronica with him. Keith watches as Veronica blinks a few times and steadies her balance with a hand on Lance’s shoulder.

“I learned so much from your dog today!” Lance says.

Veronica exhales through her mouth as she gains her bearings. “I was the guinea pig all day.”

Keith offers her an empathetic smile. “It’s something you have to get used to.”

“On the one hand, I’m glad he’s able to practice this facet of his gift,” Veronica says. “But on the other, I’d rather not be teleported anymore unless absolutely necessary.” She touches the side of her head with her fingertips. “I might skip dinner unless my stomach calms down.”

“Speaking of,” Lance interjects. “Hunk is almost done making food. He sent me out to assemble the troops. You’re the last two to show up aside from Pidge. I can’t find her anywhere.”

“I’m sure she’s holed up somewhere so she can work in private without you zapping in out of nowhere,” Keith assumes with a smirk.

“My presence is a gift!”

A weight settles on Keith’s shoulder, and he looks to see Shiro smiling gently.

“I’m going to find Matt and show him the cables we found today. I’m hoping we can start working on the bo… ship tonight,” he bids with a pat on Keith’s shoulder. “I’ll meet you for dinner.”

Keith hums in acknowledgement, watching as Shiro walks away and disappears into the ship’s hull. He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s staring—he might have even sighed wistfully. Lance leans into view with a judgemental eyebrow raised and arms crossed. Keith snaps back into the moment.

“What?”

“You got a thing for him or something?” Lance asks in a deadpan tone, like he knows the answer is yes.

“ _What_?”

“You were just looking at him like he’s the moon or something.”

“That was a rather longing look on your face,” Veronica concurs unhelpfully.

“I’m not answering that,” Keith grumbles as he pushes past the siblings. “I’m going to look for PIdge.”

Just as he crosses the threshold into the ship, he hears Lance calling after him with a supportive, “I’m rooting for you, buddy!” Keith draws his shoulders up and is grateful for the dark hallway hiding how red his face is turning.

He tries not to think about what that comment implies, and he definitely doesn’t _try_ to think about how his lips are still slightly tingly from that kiss from earlier, but he does anyway. It eats at his brain as he bounces back and forth between _that was a one-time thing_ and _Shiro kissed me back so he must want it too_. If anything, at the very least, he’s more comfortable with talking about feelings with Shiro. Correction: he’s comfortable talking about his feelings _for_ Shiro, with Shiro.

He touches his gently upturned lips with his fingers and remembers how Shiro looked when he pulled away from the kiss.

Pidge isn’t in her room, which triggers Keith’s brain into actively thinking about other places she might be. With a new objective, he makes rounds to the kitchen, the control room, the helm, and even the boiler room.

Stumped, Keith frowns. He wishes he’d had the forethought to get her number sooner, because maybe she was just out and would be one text away from coming home and joining the rest of them for dinner.

But what if something bad happened to her?

Keith’s stomach flutters with anxiety, but he attempts to push it down and write it off as worst-case-scenario syndrome. His feet pick up the pace as he makes his fourth pass down the main hallway.

“Kosmo,” he calls, and the wolf comes jogging up to Keith from wherever he has been lurking. Keith lowers his hand to the top of Kosmo’s head and pushes his nails through the fur. “You don’t know where Pidge is, do you?”

Kosmo lets out a little whine and puts his nose to the floor. He follows an invisible scent trail down the hallway, past Pidge’s room, with Keith right on his tail.

“I was hoping for a quick zap, but I guess we’ll do this the Earth-dog way,” he jokes to the wolf.

Kosmo leads him down to a place Keith hasn’t really gotten the chance to explore yet. The ship is as empty as it is huge, and the Alteans hardly take up twenty percent of its total square footage. There isn’t much to see—mostly just empty rooms with dark and rusty walls, exposed pipes, the works—but there must be something if Kosmo is still taking them deeper and deeper into the center of the ship.

Keith hears Pidge before he sees her.

An isolated sniffle—the undeniable sound of someone suppressing tears—echoes down the narrow hall Keith and Kosmo are headed down. Keith pauses, thinking maybe Pidge just wants to be alone, but worry gets the better of him, and he presses forward.

Kosmo nudges his nose against a door that was left slightly ajar. Keith presses the side of his fist against the steel to inch it open. The room is simple, dark and empty like most of the others, and he almost sees nothing at first.

A pile of clothes—Pidge’s clothes—sit in a heap in the corner of the room. There’s no way to make sense of what he sees because right when Keith is thinking he should absolutely give Pidge some privacy, the pile of clothes moves.

Pidge’s glasses, floating just above the pile of her clothes, turn and face(?) Keith in surprise.

He hears a gasp.

“Keith!”

Keith stares dumbly at the floating glasses, trying to mentally fill in where Pidge would be if she was actually… there.

“Uh, Pidge…?” He swallows.

“I’m here!” Pidge’s green tee shirt moves, both sleeves waving up and down frantically. “Can you see me?”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer that,” Keith says honestly, still standing in the doorway. “I can see your clothes.”

“God, Keith, I…” She sounds wrecked. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

He knows that tone of voice, the fear laced in heavily with the confusion. Suddenly he’s in Shiro’s shoes, standing over a frightened Keith knelt on the tiles of a public bathroom.

He pushes into the room and goes to the invisible clump of Pidge. Kosmo is there too, not knowing how to help but wanting to nonetheless. They both sit, and Keith extends a hand and blindly finds the top of Pidge’s head. His fingers weave through strands of hair that he can’t see.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says first and foremost. “I think this is your gift.”

“My gift scared the shit out of me,” she mumbles. Keith feels her shift and hears the sound of her wiping her face. “I walked out of the shower, combed my hair and everything. And when I wiped the fog from the mirror, I just wasn’t there anymore. I thought I died.”

Keith offers a small smile. “If it makes you feel any better, my gift scared the shit out of me, too.”

“What happened with you?” Pidge asks.

“I burst into flames,” Keith says. “In the middle of class at the Garrison.”

Pidge bubbles into laughter at that. Her clothes ruffle against themselves as she relaxes, the worry fading away.

“That must have been awful. And at the Garrison? I’d take this over that any day,” she muses.

“It was terrifying,” Keith agrees. “I had Shiro to come talk me down, thankfully. He told me that if I just concentrated on my breath and tried to connect with my gift, then I’d be able to control it better. And it worked.”

“Okay.” Pidge steadies her breathing. Keith counts the seconds between each intake of air. Slowly, Pidge’s face and body come back into the light.

“How long ago did this happen?” he asks.

Pidge shrugs, and Keith can see the movement this time. “A few hours?”

“And you were all alone this whole time?” Keith’s heart aches for her. He doesn’t know what he would have done for hours with nothing but his own skin on fire to keep him company. “You’re not in any pain, are you?”

“Nothing hurts.” Her green eyes glance at Keith’s face. “My head just feels weird, like throbbing a lot. And my stomach isn’t doing too great. You said Shiro talked you down?”

“Yeah.” Keith’s chest warms at the memory. “He said that you always have to remember that your gift is part of you. It’s not something you can control like a master, really, but more like a companion. Then once you learn how to manage that, you’ll be able to work with it and do all kinds of cool shit.”

Pidge rubs her face again, drying her puffy eyes. “How long ago was that?”

“That I got my gift? Like, a few days.”

Saying it out loud reminds Keith how different his life was not even a week ago. He’s compelled to believe that things have changed for the better. Much, much better.

“Really?” Pidge perks up a little. “But you’re older than I am.”

Keith scoffs in that playfully self-deprecating kind of way. “Maybe I’m just a late bloomer. Or it means you’re going to be one powerful and kick-ass Altean.”

He ruffles her hair, and she laughs.

“You’re back,” Keith tells her.

She looks down at her arms, now fully visible in their sleeves. With a happy face, she gets to her feet and looks at the skin of her legs visible from under her shorts.

“Finally. Oh, that was was so stressful.” Pidge looks at Keith again, looks _up_ to him because of her tiny size. “Thanks, Keith.”

“Don’t mention it.” He pats her shoulder like Shiro would have done. “You should talk to your brother about this. He’s the one who’s going to help you get through the adjustment phase and everything.”

“He’s gonna nerd out so hard.”

Together, they make their way back to the main area of the ship, where clouds of delectable-smelling food meets them halfway.

One more loose end is tied up. With Pidge having her gift now, there’s absolutely nothing stopping them from finding Number Six and ending the stupid game of cat and mouse.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, i'm sorry!

Pidge’s brain works faster than her gift. Within a day, she devises a plan to use her newfound invisibility to get more information on the whereabouts of Number Six. The appearance of her power invigorates everyone on the team. Suddenly it feels like a race to close the circle of their little family.

Unfortunately, Pidge can’t do anything with her ingenious plan until she masters making not only herself invisible at will, but also someone else alongside her. Shiro graciously helps train her, with Matt shouting encouraging words from the sidelines. Lance decides he wants to play teacher, too, and throws himself into the ring. Krolia mentions to Keith that he should also go in and take some pointers from his new friends, and that’s how, over the next couple of days, every one of them starts training together on the top deck of the ship.

But it’s clear from pretty early on that they don’t necessarily work well together as a team.

Training sessions get tiring quickly, not in the physical sense. Bickering with Lance and trying to coax Hunk into just twenty more minutes of drills are emotionally taxing. Pidge easily gets frustrated with herself when she can’t pick up a new technique right away. Matt, Shiro, Veronica, and even Krolia take turns giving her advice that might help blossom her ability.

Shiro tells her the same thing that he always had to remind Keith: “You won’t get it in a day.”

When they aren’t coaching Pidge, Matt and Shiro break off from the group to work on the ship. Keith tags along one of these times.

“You have to make sure the wiring is live and connected at the correct ends,” Matt says to Shiro from across the boiler room.

Shrio, on his back and stuffed under a giant panel like a car mechanic, groans. “They don’t come with labels. How do I know which side is which?”

Matt is hunched over his laptop, connected to the power core via a cable. He leans back, running a hand through his hair. “Positive goes to negative.”

Keith leans against the part of the part of the wall that Shiro is currently hiding under, arms crossed. He watches Shiro pause and consider Matt’s instructions, and he can pinpoint the exact moment Shiro throws him a disapproving frown.

“I reiterate: there are no labels.”

“I thought you were an engineer.”

“This is a little low-tech compared to what I’m used to working with.” Shiro slides out from under the panel and wipes his face. Which is a wonderful mistake because some blackened ash from the furnace smears across his cheek. “How are things on your end?”

“By all accounts,” Matt relays, “she should work. All the connections are secure and live, we have the cable hooked up, all that’s left would be to fire her up.”

Both Shiro and Matt look at Keith. Keith raises an eyebrow back at them.

“What? I don’t know how ships work.”

Shiro smiles softly and Keith’s chosen response, and the look on his face turns on the lightbulb in Keith’s head.

“Oh, you mean literally set it on fire.” Keith rolls his eyes. Like they haven’t heard of blowtorches before. He pushes off the wall and cracks his knuckles in preparation. He’s never combusted something as big as a boiler furnace before, but he expects it’ll be as cool as it sounds.

“Cool your jets for just a second,” Matt interrupts. “We should get some coal for fuel first.”

“I thought I was the fuel,” Keith says.

“You’re the catalyst.” Matt closes his laptop and unhooks it from the ship mainframe. “Unless you want to be the fuel too, meaning you’d have to stand in here and blow fire into the boiler for twenty-four hours every day to keep the engine running.”

Of course Keith knows that. He may be in a room with two genius engineers, but he fixed up an old dirt bike by himself that one time.

“Coal sounds good.”

Matt swings under the panel that Shiro had been trying to work on. His legs stick out and wiggle comically as he works magic on the cable, and when he speaks, his voice sounds like it’s miles away.

“Honestly, Shiro, you had a fifty-fifty chance of getting these hooked up the right way. And your record is zero for two,” Matt chides.

“I guess I’m only good with ships that are meant for space, not ships meant for water.”

Keith can tell Shiro means it from the humblest parts of his heart, but Matt goes on to say, “Alright, no need to gloat.”

Shiro gazes at Keith helplessly, and the most Keith can offer is a shrug and a shake of his head.

There’s a familiar sizzle in the air that warns Keith a split second before Lance pops into the room. He’s joined by Pidge, who taps away on her tablet like it’s glued to her fingers.

“She figured it out!” Lance shouts.

“Ah!” Under the electrical panel, Matt shouts and jolts in surprise. They all hear a loud bang that sounds suspiciously like someone’s forehead colliding with steel, and Matt scoots himself out from under the panel with a red mark on his face. A glare in Lance’s direction confirms the suspicion.

“She figured out how to get you to walk through the door like a normal person?” Matt deadpans as he brushes himself off.

Lance waves his hand dismissively. “I’ll leave boring means of transportation to the humans. But did you hear me?”

“Pidge figured something out?” Shiro asks.

“What would that be, exactly?” Keith adds for him.

“I know a way that can help us find Number Six much faster.” Pidge adjusts her glasses and angles her tablet screen outward. She looks like she hasn’t slept. The boys huddle up around her for a peek at what she’s about to show them. “This cybersecurity facility houses a database of worldwide CCTV archives.”

“Tell them what CCTV means,” Lance urges.

In unison, Shiro, Matt, and Keith say, “I know what CCTV is.”

Pidge zooms in on a map of a New York City block. The building she zeroes in on looks the same as all the others from the outside, but when she tabs over to pictures of the interior, it’s like a setting of a sci-fi film. Which is right up their alley.

“CCTV is security footage from anything. Stores, warehouses, front porches, you name it. This building, right here in the city, is a government-run storage unit for footage from every country in the world. If there’s any information at all, the slightest chance that someone might have accidentally revealed themselves to be Altean in front of one of the billions of cameras archived here, I could, in theory, go in and grab it.”

From what’s shown on the little screen, the facility is smooth, futuristic, classy, and highly guarded. Seriously, it looks like the set of a bank heist movie.

“You’re talking about breaking into a government agency,” Shiro says like he can’t quite believe it. “That’s—”

“My genius little sister!” Matt crushes Pidge to his chest.

There are unhappy grumbles coming from where Pidge’s face should me. When Matt lets her go to breathe, she fixes her hair back to the mess it was before.

“If our tiny fleet of computers isn’t enough to track them down wherever they’re hiding, then this facility must have the means,” Pidge goes on to say. Her tone bleeds excitement, and Keith can’t tell if she’s more enthralled by finding the last Altean or just by the prospect of getting her hands on government-grade tech.”

“I don’t mean to be the devil’s advocate,” Shiro starts, even though it might be a little untrue, “but this is a _maximum security_ building you’re talking about. It must be impossible to get into, let alone illegal.”

“If it’s anything like the Garrison, then you need clearance to even use the bathroom,” Keith adds so Shiro isn’t alone.

“But you don’t have invisible people at the Garrison, do you?” Lance leans in with his hands on his hips, smirking like it’s his own genius plan.

Keith turns to him with an unamused frown. “Okay, so she can turn invisible and not get caught by cameras. But a place like this is gonna have locked doors and security checks along the way. She’s bound to set them off even if they can’t see her.”

“Why would I walk through the front door when I can just teleport right to the computer?” Pidge wears a sly grin, and paired with the mischievous glint across her glasses, she looks downright mad.

Keith’s eyes flick back and forth between Lance and Pidge. They both watch him with devious smiles, waiting for him to get it. Just when it clicks in his head, Shiro speaks up.

“You plan on using Lance to get you into the intel hub and keeping yourselves invisible to avoid detection.”

The more Keith tries to think up a scenario where they fail exponentially, the more likely it seems this plan can succeed. As long as they, in theory, stay invisible the entire time and don’t trigger any alarms, it should work.

Unless it doesn’t, and they end up thrown in human jail for the rest of their lives. Well, that might be more desirable than getting killed by the Galra.

Shiro, ever the rational thinker, still isn’t completely on board.

“Pidge, it sounds like a great idea, but—”

Her exaggerated groan interrupts him. “Don’t you dare say anything to rain on my parade.”

Shiro smiles apologetically. “It’s exciting to think about, don’t get me wrong. But you have to be careful not to get ahead of yourself. Using your gift for an extended period of time can be really draining, especially since your power is so new to you.”

“I’ve been getting better every day,” Pidge protests.

“You have,” Shiro agrees amicably. “Just keep in mind that you’ll be using you power, continuously, on two people instead of just yourself.”

“I already practiced!” Pidge’s face lights up, and that’s the last anyone sees of her expression before it disappears from view. Lance is gone, too. All that remains are two hollow outfits and a floating tablet.

Keith suppresses a laugh at how ridiculous the sight is.

Shiro chuckles out loud. “That’s a fantastic start. You’ll just have to expand your power more so you can make clothes invisible, too.”

“Or we could go naked,” Lance says.

Matt doesn’t need to see his face to deliver a rough smack to Lance’s chest for that comment.

“We are not going naked,” Pidge shoots. She drops the gift, and she and Lance reappear. “Just give me a few more days to achieve complete invisibility and work over the plan with the others. Then we’re going in.”

“Shiro and I will have the ship ready by the time you come back with info on Number Six,” Matt promises.

Keith catches a glimpse of Shiro’s gaze drifting to the floor. A line of concentration—determination—creases the skin between his eyebrows. He can’t describe the atmosphere around them. It’s charged and energized, like the air before a lightning strike. Or the tingle Keith gets when Kosmo teleports him somewhere. It’s invigorating. It feels good. It feels _real_.

Shiro meets his eyes, serious but hopeful. “We are going to find them.”

…

Pidge, to everyone’s surprise, nails the advancement of her gift within two days. After hearing about the master plan, Krolia supports and even helps fine-tune what Lance and Pidge are about to undertake. Veronica is the one who worries the most about how badly things can go wrong, which Keith isn’t expecting from possibly the hardest, badass-est member of their team.

It probably boils down to an older sister genuinely concerned about her younger brother.

Pidge can turn herself and up to two other people completely invisible for extended periods of time. Her limit is narrowed if she tries to cover too many people at once. Yesterday, she managed to link arms with Lance, Matt, Romelle, and Hunk—all of them disappearing from sight. But she couldn’t hold it for long, and their clothes started fading back in after a minute or two.

So she is taking only Lance with her today. Shiro asserts that he’s going to give them two hours before everyone else goes in to rescue them. Pidge promises to have everything they need within thirty minutes, and the ship better be ready for her not-so-maiden voyage by the time they return.

“Adios, kiddos,” Lance bids before vanishing from the ship’s deck and taking Pidge with him.

The team stands in the gentle breeze with everyone’s eyes on the city’s skyline, as if Lance and Pidge would pop onto the roof of a building and wave to them. As excited as they all are—Keith included—for this mission, it proves to have a heavy weight now that Lance and Pidge are actually out in the field and risking potentially everything.

The boat bobs up and down in the harbor with the swell of gentle Atlantic waves.

Shiro nudges a suddenly solemn-looking Matt on the shoulder.

“Come on. We have a lot of progress to make on the ship if they’re going to be back so soon.”

He and Matt lead the pack toward the ship’s stairs. Hunk trails behind and offers his help because, as it turns out, he’s pretty good with mechanics just like Matt. Veronica is bookended by Romelle and Krolia, the three of them planning on preparing what belongings they have for a journey by sea.

Kosmo bumps his head against Keith’s hand, earning him a distracted scratch. Keith looks at his dog, holding both sides of his face with his hands.

“Go follow them, buddy. Watch their backs,” Keith tells him.

Kosmo gives the scar on his cheek a lick before disappearing. Keith feels better knowing that someone is in the city with Pidge and Lance, ready to help if help is needed.

He turns to follow the rest into the ship. Shiro and Matt have just taken their first steps down the stairs into the hull. Keith finds himself excited to be sea-borne and feel the waves of an unrestricted ocean. He has no idea where Pidge’s itel will take them, but he knows getting there will be an experience.

A shadow falls over the deck. First instinct tells Keith it’s a cloud, but it’s massive. And it doesn’t move from its position over the ship. A cold feeling sinks into Keith’s chest.

When he turns around and casts his eyes toward the sky, he’s greeted with the sight of a massive Galra fighter.


	7. Chapter 7

Keith dives out of the way just in time to avoid a blast that sends chunks of the dock flying all over the place. His body collides with the concrete, and he has to keep rolling to avoid a second shot from above.

Hiding behind a large piece of scrap metal, Keith steadies his frantic breath and hears his friends and mother calling his name on the wind. Above, the Galra ship is still slowly descending toward the dock.

It’s massive. Keith doesn’t want to find out how many soldiers that thing can hold when it finally touches down.

Krolia finds him first. He hears her say something about getting ready for a fight. Keith coughs away the dust in his lungs and gets to his feet. Shiro and Veronica run back out onto dry land and put themselves between the enemy and Keith.

“Ugh, why’d they have to attack right when our defense shield went on a field trip?” Hunk jogs back to join everyone else, groaning from the effort.

“You seem pretty relaxed at seeing a cruiser arrive at your back door!” Krolia shouts as she runs out from her covered spot with Keith.

Hunk shrugs casually, but it does nothing to ease Keith’s anxiety. _He_ isn’t indestructible like some people.

The cannon at the end of the Galra ship whirs to life as it charges for another shot. Shiro lifts his right hand into the air and squeezes his fingers into a fist. The barrel of the cannon crumples like it’s made of paper. When the Galrans try to shoot, the recoiled metal causes the blast to ricochet back into the ship, igniting an explosion and cutting the engines.

It’s good for the team because the Galra ship starts to go down. It’s bad for the team because the Galra ship starts to go down right on top of them.

Veronica fires her gun up into the belly of the cruiser, creating a gaping hole in the metal big enough so that she and Shiro aren’t crushed by the craft. The last Keith sees of them is Shiro holding Veronica protectively around the shoulders as they are swallowed up by the beast of a ship.

“Did we win?” Romelle asks, hiding herself behind Hunk.

“It’s never this easy of a win with the Galra,” Krolia warns, and she takes out her blade.

Keith marches forward with both fists on fire, clenching at his sides. He runs as the crashed ship, determined to get inside and kill every last one of the Galra inside before they even have a chance to trickle out like a bunch of drowned ants.

A large hatch on the side of the vessel steams and hisses as it slides open. Keith puts his hands up in a protective stance and readies himself for troops to descend on him.

What comes out instead is a monster.

The creature—no, not a creature, a robot—steps heavily down the ramp and stands at its full height—twice the size of an average Galra. It has beady green eyes that rotate around its head like two periscopes. Its long, gangly arms hang at its sides.

“What is _that_?” Hunk yells.

“Oh, so now you’re worried,” Keith shouts back.

That might have been a mistake, because the robot’s fluorescent eyes swivel around to lock right onto Keith, zeroing in on a loudy, easy target.

Keith kicks off into a sprint and runs full speed at the robot. He raises a fist, unsure of how much of a dent he can make in the robot’s armor. But the beast opens its arms as Keith approaches and flashes what look like hundreds of tiny eyes in his direction.

Only these eyes light up, and each and every one of them sends a blast of energy right for Keith.

Arms raised in defense, Keith closes his eyes and hopes it won’t hurt too much when he gets hit. He doesn’t see Krolia jump in front of him and deflect the shots with her blade. But there are dozens, and she can only repel so many. Krolia gets hit, which knocks her back into Keith, and together they tumble to the ground.

“Mom!” Keith shouts, dousing his hands so he can drag her to safety. He eyes a nasty bruise at the front of her shoulder, but it shouldn’t be something she can’t recover from.

Krolia opens her eyes with a soft grunt. “I’m fine, Keith. Watch your back.”

Keith ignores the warning and makes Krolia his priority for now. Heart beating wildly, he gets Krolia behind some debris so she’s hidden from the robot, which is slowly advancing on Keith’s spot as the seconds pass.

He still doesn’t know what happened to Shiro and Veronica.

The beast winds up for another blast. Keith knows that he has time to dash out of the way, but he doesn’t know if running with open up Krolia for an attack. He can’t leave her vulnerable like this. So he crouches protectively around her and braces for impact.

He feels the thudding footsteps of the approaching giant. He hears the weapons go off. He even hears them collide with something, but nothing makes contact with his body.

Un-tensing his muscles, Keith slowly turns to find Hunk completely eclipsing his view of the robot. Dust floats around them. Hunk rights his posture and steps forward with one foot to place a hard punch right in the robot’s chest. The beast goes flying back, giving Hunk enough time to turn around and help Keith to his feet.

Keith stares wide-eyed at Hunk’s hand, which should be crushing into a million pieces from hitting a block of metal that hard.

“Don’t try that at home,” Hunk says. “It’s more intense than it looks.”

The front of his clothes and his cheeks are covered in gray soot from the blast. Keith realizes that he’s never seen Hunk’s gift in action until now. Not only can he take a hit, he can take it standing on his own two feet.

Keith is a little bit in awe.

“Did that even hurt?” Keith blurts.

“What hurts the most is living in constant fear that it _will_ start to hurt one day,” Hunk answers dramatically. “But right now, I’m fine.”

“Can you watch Krolia? I’m going in to find Shiro.”

Keith brushes past Hunk before he hears a response. The robot has left the door to the ship wide open. He hears the faint sound of gunfire from deep within it, and he can only pray that it’s Veronica who’s doing the shooting. Smoke pours out and down the ramp, but there are no Galra yet. Just the giant beast that has recovered its bearings and is lunging for Keith.

He’s too slow this time. The robot reaches out with one long arm and coils it around the length of Keith’s torso. His feet leave the ground like he weighs nothing, and all the kicking and struggling gets him nowhere compared to the inorganic strength of steel muscles.

The creature holds him at eye level, and for an insane moment, they’re just staring at each other. The robot makes deep, slow clicking sounds, like it’s talking or thinking. Keith wants to set himself on fire to see if the robot’s arm will melt off. He has to act fast before it starts shooting at him with its arm lasers again.

A claw comes into view. The robot raises its free arm and inches it toward Keith’s face. Struggling to breathe under the crushing pressure and fear, Keith is powerless as he watches the claw creep closer with wide eyes.

Instead of bashing his skull in, which is what Keith expects it to do, the robot tugs at his necklace and examines it with its soulless green eyes.

Keith is frozen for a moment. The creature looks up from the necklace to his face, and it groans in approval, like it had just found its prize. Kicking desperately, Keith starts to try and worm himself out of the robot’s hold. He hates the way it looks at him with murderous intent. He’s too stunned to summon even the smallest of fires to help him escape.

The lasers in the beast’s eyes begin to glow and hum. Keith shuts his own.

“Keith!”

Shiro’s voice calls, overwrought, from somewhere behind him. The beast ceases all movement, and Keith fears that Shiro just made himself a new target. But then Keith’s ears pick up on the squeal of metal. The robot’s limbs shake like it can’t move anymore, fighting some invisible force.

Keith angles his head enough to see Shiro standing on the dock just off to the side, straining with both hands to hold the robot at bay.

“Shiro!” Keith coughs, lungs deprived of oxygen. The beast’s arms creak louder and slowly come apart by Shiro’s will.

The hold around him loosens just enough for Keith to slip through and plummet back to the concrete.

He meets solid arms instead, one metal and one flesh.

Shiro catches him and bolts out of the way.

“Don’t worry about me,” Keith wheezes. “You had him! Go finish it!”

“Not until you’re out of the way,” Shiro shoots him down.

Over Shiro’s shoulder, Keith sees Veronica stagger out of the Galra ship and raise a sniper. With her feet planted steadily on the ramp, she takes aim and shoots each of the robot’s beady little eyes. Each blast causes the lasers to explode. The creature struggles to maintain its footing, but it still tries to reach for Veronica. Keith’s heart hammers in his chest in fear because it looks like the robot just might get her before she can shoot the last of the lasers.

She pulls the trigger and obliterates the last eye, the one on the robot’s head.

“Shiro!” is as much of a warning as Keith can get out before flames rush forward and engulf them. Keith knows he can survive a blast like that—he has before—but he’s not like the other Alteans. He can’t give his gift to others as well.

With one arm holding him effortlessly, Shiro uses his other hand to summon a sheet of scrap metal toward them. The steel bends and wraps around them like aluminium foil.

Through the seam in their shelter, light from the explosion leaks in. It’s warm and loud, but muffled where Keith stands pressed against Shiro’s chest. He might move, just to be polite, but Shiro made the shield so small there is hardly room to go anywhere.

For a while, he just relearns what it feels like to fill his lungs with air. Shiro doesn’t move long after the explosion dies down, except to run the backs of his fingers down Keith’s scar.

“What the hell was that thing?” Keith asks.

“Veronica mentioned something in there about an experiment,” Shiro says.

“Were there Galra?”

“Only a few in the ship,” Shiro says. “We got the feeling that they really just wanted to send us the robot and have that deal with us.”

“An Altean-sniffing hound, huh?” Keith muses. There is a lot about the Galra they aren’t expecting, apparently. They’re capable of so much more, so much imagination.

“Good thing it was too stupid to know it had to kill us in order,” Shiro half-jokes.

Keith wants to avoid eye-contact, but he has nowhere to hide. Shiro’s little smile dies down at his reaction, and he turns serious once again.

“Keith.” He sounds like he already knows.

Reaching between them, Shiro pinches the pendant that hangs around Keith’s neck. He pulls it out into the open and tries to study its face in the dark.

“Give me some light,” Shiro asks.

“It’s fine, Shiro.”

“Keith.”

Reluctantly, Keith lights a small kindling on the tip of one finger. He holds it like a candle in their little cave, lighting it up just enough for Shiro to read the Altean number on Keith’s necklace.

“I know you’re gonna be mad,” Keith starts before Shiro can. Really, he should have expected Shiro would notice eventually. “And I know you’re gonna tell me why I shouldn’t have.”

“Keith, you switched our necklaces!” Shiro interrupts. Obviously, Keith is prepared to face Shiro’s anger, but he wasn’t expecting to feel this shitty about it. He wants to apologize to Shiro, but a strong part of him knows he would have done it either way, in any reality.

“I know!” Keith extinguishes the little flame and wraps his hands around Shiro’s biceps, squeezing so he gets the point. “I don’t care!”

“Are you trying to die in my place? What was going through your head when you did this? _When_ did you even do this?”

“In the hotel.” Keith lowers his voice, remembering back to what feels like so long ago, when he silently switched their numbers in a moment of weakness and helplessness. “You were sleeping.”

Shiro breathes. His chest rises and falls and presses against Keith with no space between them. “Keith,” Shiro says for the hundredth time, but it’s a different language now, softer, sadder. “You know that won’t actually change our numbers, right?”

“I know.”

Fingertips brush against his cheek again. “What was going through your head?”

“Just how scared I was… I am to lose you.”

“You don’t have any power over that,” Shiro reminds him. “No matter what, I will always be the first to die.”

“And I’ll be right behind you.” Keith lifts his head, frowning at Shiro. “The order they put us in is pointless.”

“I wish you weren’t so ready to die for me,” Shiro sighs against his face.

“Why?”

Shiro wears a tender smile when he answers. “It’s supposed to be the other way around.”

Keith takes in what he can see of Shiro’s face in the darkness. He wants it to be like how they are in this metal enclosure—just the two of them in the entire universe.

“Are you not mad at me?” he tries tentatively.

Shiro exhales, breath wafting through Keith’s bangs. He smells so good. “I want to be mad at you for pulling a reckless, stupid stunt like that,” he says, lowering his head. “But it just makes me love you even more.”

His lips press against Keith’s smile. Keith surges up on his toes and wiggles his arms around Shiro’s neck. They’re close, but he needs to be closer. He hums into Shiro’s mouth, nails scratching along the short hair at the back of Shiro’s skull.

Hands go to his hips. Keith angles forward and makes it clear how much he wants Shiro, how much he wants his hands all over his body.

“I love you, Shiro,” Keith gasps between kisses. “I love you even though you say it’s dangerous. I don’t care if there’s a risk. You’re worth everything.”

Shiro nudges another kiss to his lips, then bumps their noses together. “I don’t want you to be in pain if something happens to me,” he says, and Keith is about to lecture him about how he doesn’t care what might happen in the future because all he wants is _now_. But Shiro continues ahead of him. “But I can’t keep myself from you any longer.”

“I don’t want you to keep yourself from me,” Keith hammers in.

“I know. I won’t,” Shiro promises, and he straightens himself out.

The metal shield peels away and allows sunlight to pour in. Keith squints in the forgotten brightness. He follows Shiro back toward the site of the explosion. Dust is still settling, but smoky figures mill around in the haze.

Keith jogs over to Krolia and finds her still in one piece.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asks as he helps her stand.

She has to cough a few times before she answers, but she has been worse. “I will be just fine. You’re not hurt, are you?”

“You know I’m fireproof,” he says with a little grin.

Veronica, Romelle, and Hunk gather themselves up and inventory any injuries. Thankfully, everyone is conscious and not bleeding out on the concrete.

Shiro’s head swivels back and forth. “Where’s Matt?”

“I last saw him by the ship,” Romelle says, “before the robot exploded.”

Her answer gets Shiro to run toward the boat with concern written on his face. He calls Matt’s name, and the longer he goes without a response, the more fearful his voice sounds. Veronica and Hunk join Shiro in calling for Matt while Keith and Romelle help Krolia limp along at a slower pace.

Shiro spots him dangling between the ship and the harbor on the scaffolding. He grips the rail with both hands and shouts down toward the water.

“Matt!”

“Shiro!” He sounds frantic. “The hull! She’s been pierced…!”

It takes Keith a long moment to realize why it’s bad for a boat to have a hole in it.

“She’s sinking!” Matt yells.

Shiro vaults himself over the rail, and he flies straight over the water to land on the boat’s deck a few feet away from the edge of the harbor. Fitting a flat palm on the metal floor of the deck, Shiro closes his eyes and feels for where the ship is damaged.

Keith stands still, even holds his breath, as it becomes clearer how their ship is listing forward instead of remaining level. She’s already down several inches.

Locking his jaw into place, Shiro tenses both hands against the metal. Sweat gathers at his temples, and Keith watches from across the bridge how his muscles bulge and shake with effort. His strain yields an unseen result. For a terrifying moment, Keith didn’t know if Shiro was successful because he couldn’t see if the holes in the ship were fixable.

But a few heavy seconds later, Matt laughs triumphantly and reels himself back up to the deck.

Once they all cross the bridge and board their saved ship, Keith helps Shiro stand with a hand on his elbow.

“Is it going to be okay?” Keith asks, unaware of where this sudden pack attachment to a boat came from.

Shiro, out of breath, nods. “Yeah. Look.” He closes his hand around Keith’s and shows him in his mind’s eye the stitched-together hull forming a water-tight seal against the pressure of the waves. He shows Matt, too, who breathes a sigh of relief big enough to speak for all of them.

“Pidge and Lance still aren’t back yet,” Hunk says.

“Their two-hour limit isn’t up yet.” Shiro dusts off his hands. “The best thing for us to do right now is ready the ship and prepare for launch, assuming they’ll come back with the information we need.”

“I hope to all hell that they do,” Romelle huffs. Keith is still processing how such a pretty and delicate-looking girl can have such a mouth. “I don’t want to stay here a second longer than we have to.”

“I thought you liked it here,” Hunk tries.

“I did. Until the Galra sent their robot-laser-dog after us.” A few murmurs of agreement sound from the group.

Veronica leans one hand on her hip, frowning. “How did they even find us here? We’ve spent years in the same spot without so much as a single Galra sniffing out our hiding spot.”

“They’re getting stronger and smarter,” Matt supplies cryptically.

Shiro’s jaw sets. When he speaks, he does so with the natural tone and command of a born leader. He was always destined to be Number One.“Which is why it’s in our best interest to find Number Six as quickly as possible. I know it’s starting to sound redundant, but I have a feeling this little skirmish was only the beginning.”

“Show of hands,” Hunk says. “Who here is fine with never seeing a Galra robot for the rest of their lives?”

All hands go up, except for Matt’s. The group shoots him a collective glare.

“What?” he says, shrinking into himself. “I thought the robot was kinda cool.”

“We’ll use you as bait next time, then,” Romelle suggests, earning laughs from around the group.

They head back into the ship two by two. Next to Keith, Shiro slides one arm around his shoulders and squeezes briefly, like a secret. Keith keeps his eyes forward, but his lips quirk up around the edges. What’s left for him to do is wait and find out if breaking into a government building is even worth anything.

…

Lance is—for lack of a better term—unhappy that there was a fight and he missed all of it. Really, it’s more like a mini tantrum he throws after finding out he ‘missed all the action.’ While he chews Hunk’s ear off, Pidge plops herself down at a seat in the kitchen and uploads all the intel she managed to lift onto her laptop.

Everyone is eager to see what she found, but Matt in particular quite literally breathes down her neck in his attempt to get as close to the screen as possible.

She elbows her brother off her back with a comment that his breath smells like cheese.

Throwing the screen up on a large television monitor, Pidge shows everyone the mountains of data she complied with one flash drive.

There are years of files, labeled in all the languages Keith has heard of, and then some.

“Okay, so we have this information,” Veronica says, studying the screen. “How can we possibly search everything?”

“Well, one solution is to assign everyone on the team a section of data to sift through, roughly seven hundred fifty thousand cameras, each with streams recorded of up to three months at a time, which amounts to around a hundred thirty thousand minutes of footage—”

“Nope,” Lance interrupts. “Absolutely not. Count me out.”

“ _Or_ ,” Pidge emphasizes, “I could just do this.”

She pulls up a filter bar and types in some random codes. With a flourished press of one button, she kicks her feet up on the table and leans back, arms behind her head as the screen flickers through file after file at a rate that’s impossible to keep up with.

Everyone stands around in awe as a single minute passes. The drive finishes its search and pulls up just a handful of results. Nothing has felt more ‘moment of truth’ before now.

“Think they’re in there?” Shiro asks in a whisper.

“They have to be,” Keith murmurs back. They’re out of options.

Wasting not a second more, Pidge clicks on the first video file.

_Kakaku National Park, Australia; November 15, 2XXX; 3:25 P.M._

It’s quickly evident that the footage was taken from a GoPro. The person in the video hikes over red, rocky terrain, nothing but the path and his own shadow in the frame. When a huge boulder tumbles from atop a tall hill and crushes the hiker, Keith winces. The screen is dark for an extended moment, but light pours back in slowly. The shadow of the hiker comes back into frame. He hoists the boulder right off of himself like he’s Hercules, just long enough for him to scurry away and survive.

While incredible, a sudden burst of strength isn’t enough to automatically make the Australian hiker an Altean. Keith’s heart sinks a little as Pidge clicks away from the video and chooses another.

“Show me aliens, baby,” she urges while the video loads.

_Near Qassimiut, Greenland; August 29, 2XXX; 6:11 A.M._

“Hey, it’s recent,” Lance comments.

The fuzzy video shows a security view of a lonely gas station. The sun has hardly risen, making it almost too dark to see much of anything on the screen. A singular gas sign illuminates the pavement. For a while, nothing happens. No patrons turn into the parking lot. There aren’t even any cars that drive over the stretch of road that’s visible in the frame.

Slowly, a white mist crawls into view. It’s creepy, to say the least, but maybe such weather is the norm in Greenland.

Something rumbles so hard that the camera shakes. From this vantage point, it looks like an earthquake is shaking the little gas station. A person flies into view. No, not flies. She’s thrown.

The woman—young, as far as Keith can tell—lands on the concrete with a thud that shakes the ground some more. She lifts herself into a fighting stance and locks onto something that’s still out of frame. The fog dances around her, curling up her legs and around her arms. Whatever was attacking her finally steps into the camera’s line of sight.

The girl lunges at it, knocking it down with a single punch.

Everyone stands speechless as they stare at the lifeless body of a Galra before the feed cuts to black.

No one dares say anything. No one dares hope.

Pidge furiously clicks at the keyboard, rewinds the video.

They all watch it again. And then a third time.

Pidge pauses over the girl and zooms closer to her face. It’s grainy through the fog and low-quality camera, but her bright eyes shine like she’s in the room with them. Keith feels a tug from somewhere deep within his chest. He doesn’t have to ask, but he knows the others are feeling it too.

Shiro is the first to break the spell.

“It’s her.”


	8. Chapter 8

The air is colder out at sea.

Despite the late summer month, the strong breeze and latitude work in tandem to drop the temperature quickly. They’ve been on the ocean for almost twenty-four hours, coordinates set for Greenland. It’ll be a long trip before they reach land again, and no one mentions the obvious fact that Number Six could be gone by the time they get there.

They left shortly after seeing the found footage of her. With the ship—no worse for wear—as ready as it’ll ever be to slice at the waves, Matt directed Keith to the boiler room and asked him to set the whole place on fire. Keith burned the coal by sending tendrils of flames into the furnace, and the engines turned on one by one, domino style.

She sputters sometimes, but she runs. Keith learns early on that there’s nothing he finds more relaxing than sitting at the bow of the ship and watching the waves rush at him. He pretends he’s on top of the world and imagines what wonders await them in Greenland.

Romelle and Hunk—a match made in heaven or hell—still haven’t acclimated to sea legs. They moan and groan about how their stomachs can’t handle it, which is devastating because Keith thinks he’s never had more fun in his life.

Well. They have a while to get used to it.

The gentle, steady rocking is going to put Keith to sleep. His flimsy futon hadn’t been the most comfortable thing in the world to lie on, but the soothing rise and fall will probably send him off to dream land before long. That, paired with the exhaustion from the last few days, leaves Keith wanting to cuddle up and make himself at home.

Then Shiro knocks on his door.

He pokes his head in, the white section of hair at his forehead the brightest thing in the dark.

“Hey,” he says.

“You can come in,” Keith voices instead of what he really wants to say, which is ‘please come in and wrap your arms around me.’

Shiro tiptoes his way inside and softly closes the door behind him, afraid of waking anyone else down the hall though Keith is sure no one is sleeping yet. He pads across the room, wearing loose sweats and a long-sleeve shirt as pajamas. Keith tucks his legs away so Shiro has room to share the futon.

“I came to give you this back.” Shiro holds his open palm to Keith, showing him the coiled up necklace that bears the Altean symbol for the number two. “You were hoping I’d forget, weren’t you?”

Keith gives a little smile to the necklace, but he does reach out and take it back. “Maybe a little.”

He pulls Shiro’s stolen necklace off. After a second thought, instead of handing it back to him, Keith sits up on his knees and edges closer to Shiro. The backs of his fingers brush over his hair and smooth skin as he replaces the correct pendant around Shiro’s neck. He lingers.

Shiro rests a hand on Keith’s hip and watches his face. Keith’s eyes are busy following his own hands, slowly mapping down the sides of Shiro’s neck and over the long planes of his chest. Number One looks good on him, nestled there between his pecs and floating on the rise and fall of his lungs.

Shiro returns the gesture and makes sure Keith’s necklace is securely in place where it belongs.

“Will you stay here with me tonight?” Keith asks, unsure and uncaring if he’s skipping a few steps or being too forward. He wants to be by Shiro’s side at all times, and now that they’ve firmly established the feeling is mutual, it seems pointless to sleep in separate rooms.

“I would like to,” Shiro answers him.

Keith pulls him down to the futon. They settle on their sides, facing each other. Keith’s head finds Shiro’s arm for a pillow, and he curls as close as Shiro will let him with a tight seam between their bodies. Shiro lets out a long, relaxed breath through his nose, prompting Keith to look up from his vantage point on Shiro’s shoulder.

“Comfy?” he asks.

“Just as good as back in the hotel room,” Shiro hums.

Keith’s face flushes, though he doesn’t know why because it’s not like it’s an embarrassing thing. “You were awake for that?”

“I regained consciousness enough to realize I’d accidentally invaded your personal space.”

“It wasn’t an invasion,” Keith is quick to correct.

With the arm wrapped around Keith’s shoulder, Shiro gives him a squeeze. “It’s a shame it took us so long to get here, then.”

There is a way to make up for lost time.

After swiping his tongue across his lips once, Keith gets himself up on one elbow and looks down at Shiro with bangs hanging in his eyes. Shiro looks back at him, a smile in his brown eyes, and settles his palm over the small of Keith’s back.

As if rocked into motion by the swaying of the ship, Keith descends on Shiro and seals their lips together.

Shiro hums into the kiss, clutching Keith closer to him. His jaw loosens and unhinges to deepen the kiss, taking more than he ever has from Keith. With a small noise, Keith reciprocates and sends his tongue to delve in behind Shiro’s teeth. His eyebrows furrow together at the taste, masculine and wet and perfectly Shiro.

One of Keith’s hands pets at the strands of Shiro’s hair, which waterfall back toward the futon and expose his forehead. His other hand slides up and down Shiro’s torso, feeling what he has always admired. Shiro’s muscles fill Keith’s palms so nicely. He pinches the swell of Shiro’s chest and rolls his hand against it. Shiro breaks to moan breathily.

“Keith…” he whispers, and his tone drives Keith wild.

“Mm,” he hums back, busying his mouth with the skin on Shiro’s neck.

Down the futon, Shiro’s legs shift. Keith throws one of his own between his thighs to calm him down, and a new kind of arousal washes over him when the front of his pants smother up against the side of Shiro’s hip.

Keith groans, his face heating up.

“It’s okay, Keith,” Shiro coos. His nose nudges against Keith’s jaw until he angles his head for another kiss.

Blindly, Keith draws his fingers down Shiro’s chest. They trace along each dip of his abs through the soft material of his shirt. Shiro’s own hand wiggles its way under Keith’s tee shirt and feels over his arching spine.

Shiro is already half hard in his sweats. Keith cups his hand over the outline through his clothes and rubs, drinking in the feeling of touching Shiro and in absolutely no rush to push forward too quickly.

“Is this okay?” Keith asks between distracted kisses. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” Shiro answers earnestly, and he bites down on Keith’s bottom lip.

Keith’s fingers drag along the curved bulge in his sweats. It gets harder by the second, and Keith’s body responds in kind. His hips lurch forward on their own, grinding against Shiro’s side. He sends a moan down Shiro’s throat.

Being with Shiro like this is like being on fire. Tendrils of pleasure worm their way down Keith’s arms and legs. Inside, his chest and stomach are ablaze with passion and want. Like it feels right to play with fire, it feels right to press every inch of space out from between his body and Shiro’s. He’s hot everywhere. He wants to dance around Shiro like the flames he can never hope to control.

He tells Shiro so with his kiss.

Keith squeezes him around the base, and his head spins at how big he feels. Even through the clothes, even without looking, Keith can feel Shiro’s heavy balls, and his fingers brush up against the spot where his powerful thighs connect to his torso. It’s so warm where his hand works over Shiro’s most intimate places.

And Shiro encourages him with the needy noises that pull from his lungs.

It hasn’t been that long, but Keith is aching. He uses his leg around Shiro’s to drag himself forward, his thigh tensing up to drive his cock against Shiro’s body.

“Keith,” Shiro says with a different inflection this time, meant to get his attention.

Keith swallows down his own name and bites at Shiro’s lips. He’s starting to sweat. The arm around him and under his shirt sticks to his skin.

The muscles in that arm flex and hold Keith steady as Shiro shifts forward and disorients him completely. When he opens his eyes, he’s looking up at Shiro, white bangs dangling from his head.

Shiro is beautiful. He smiles around the sweat clinging to his temples, harsh breaths panting from his mouth. His metal hand wraps around Keith’s wrist and pins it to the futon.

“Hey,” Shiro says.

A grin tugs at the corner of Keith’s lips, even as he stares at Shiro through the haze of lust. “Hey.”

Shiro’s thumb glides over where Keith’s scar is still a little tender. The touch electrifies his nerves.

When Shiro flipped them, he landed on top with one of his legs between Keith’s. Now, his weight rests comfortably—deliciously—along Keith’s lower half. With a quick glance down their bodies, he sees how they’re both obviously hard in their pants. Shiro’s length nestles snugly in the seam between Keith’s balls.

When his eyes drag back up to Shiro’s face, he’s already looking at him, and Keith flushes.

“I want to get off together,” Keith says to explain himself. He rolls his body up into Shiro’s, focusing most of the movement to his hips. The result is like honey—sweet and thick and slow.

Shiro exhales in bliss, fingertips sliding down the side of Keith’s neck. His eyes flutter for a moment before he meets Keith again. “Me too.”

“I’ve never done this before.” He isn’t sure if Shiro already knows that, but he wants to lay all his cards on the table like he wants to lay himself bare for Shiro.

“That’s okay. We can go slow.” Shiro dips his head, gives Keith a fleeting eskimo kiss, and dives even deeper to latch his lips around a spot on Keith’s neck.

Keith angles his head back to give Shiro all the room he needs. His breath leaves him when Shiro rocks their hips together and doesn’t stop after just one. He does it again and again, rubbing their dicks together where it counts, all while kissing and licking and leaving impermanent bruises on Keith’s neck.

The hand that Shiro doesn’t have pinned flies around his back. Keith hikes the shirt up, and Shiro briefly detaches from his neck just long enough to ditch the article altogether. With no restriction now, Keith is at liberty to drag his hand up Shiro’s back. His fingers flex and scratch at the skin when Shiro thrusts hard against him.

Keith gasps Shiro’s name, prompting Shiro to lift his head and steal the rest of his breath with a kiss. The hand that wraps around Keith’s wrist moves to slip into his palm. Shiro laces their fingers together, grounding them both to each other. Keith moans into him when his hips fit themselves into Shiro’s pattern, and then they’re rocking together like driftwood at the mercy of the waves.

And like the hopeless piece of driftwood, Keith is absolutely powerless when his climax comes crashing down on him despite his best efforts to keep this wonderful moment afloat for as long as possible.

“Shiro,” Keith grinds out as he soils his sweats. It pulses out of him like a heartbeat, and the muscles in his stomach clench from the force of how good it feels.

His head drops back down to the futon. He hears a clipped, desperate, “Keith,” like Shiro doesn’t trust his voice. Keith hooks his free hand behind Shiro’s neck and holds him in place for a final kiss before the end. Shiro finishes with the most beautiful sound Keith has ever heard, all of it smothered against his lips in Shiro’s attempt to keep quiet.

Shiro slows, riding out the last of his orgasm until he stops. Keith opens bleary eyes and smooths his thumb over Shiro’s cheekbone.

Shiro opens his eyes, tired and so in love. He rights himself to lie comfortably half on, half next to Keith. A beefy arm anchors him by the chest. Keith takes Shiro’s hand between them and kisses his knuckles. Shiro laughs quietly, and Keith shuts him up with a kiss on his mouth. They pull apart with an exhausted, sloppy smack.

“Do you have any spare clothes in here?” Shiro asks the inevitable question. “As much as I would love to sleep naked with you, I don’t think whoever comes to wake us up in the morning will appreciate the sight.”

Keith wants to call bullshit because anyone would be blessed to see Shiro naked. Except maybe Krolia.

He wriggles out of Shiro’s hold and sorts through his limited selection of personal belongings. “You can wear some of my boxers,” he says as he unceremoniously tosses a pair at Shiro’s face.

They redress, dirty clothes left in the corner for tomorrow’s Shiro and Keith to deal with. They curl up together under the thin blanket to match the flimsy futon. With Shiro’s head on his chest, Keith isn’t sure if it’s the steady pound of Shiro’s heart or the soothing rise and fall of the swaying ship that lulls him to sleep.

…

Being with Shiro is easy.

One minute, Keith was Shiro’s best friend. The next, Shiro kissed him and told him he feels the same way. Not much is different, and Keith loves it that way. He trusts Shiro with his life, can’t imagine going a day without him. Keith was Keith, and then he was Keith after Keith met Shiro. It feels like it’s always been this way, even though for the majority of Keith’s young life, he didn’t know who Shiro was.

But, like the cerebral familiarity he feels with the other Numbers, he feels with Shiro. They were born on the same planet, born with gifts and responsibilities. Keith always goes back to wondering if they ever met on Altea, or if they ever would have if the planet hadn’t been destroyed. The sappy part of him likes to believe that they will always be meant to find each other.

Keith loves Shiro like a brother—which hopefully isn’t too weird to say in the same breath as “I imagine falling to my knees in front of him and letting him fuck my throat till he comes all the time”—but really, it’s fine. Being the type of guy who finds it hard to open up to people, to let people creep in and see the most vulnerable parts of his mind, he adores that he can have a best friend and a lover wrapped up in the same beautiful person.

Being with Shiro is easy. So easy that Keith longs for him when they’re apart, even if it’s just for a few hours at a time.

He holes himself up in the boiler room to pass the time. Above deck, swirling winds and needles of rain assault their ship as she makes her slow, lumbering journey north. She might have been patched up with some of Shiro’s magic metal tricks and Matt’s even more magical hacking abilities, but she’s still old and not the most luxurious of traveling vessels. So Keith is keeping an eye on his fire in the furnace, both to make sure it doesn’t sputter out and to warm up his bones amidst the cold that seeps in through the steel.

He takes a piece of coal from their stockpile of fuel. It’s weighty in the palm of his hand, consistency like chalk. Summoning the flames from the fuel of his own spirit, Keith watches as the grayish-black chunk of Earth glows and catches fire in his hand. To him, the coal feels different once he lights it—more alive, more _him_.

He’s about to toss the little thing in with the rest through the medieval-looking door of the furnace when he’s hit with charged air and the sudden apprehension that he’s not alone in the room.

When he turns, fist clenched around the boiling piece of coal, he sees only Lance.

“Doors exist, you know.” Keith could almost groan, losing count of how many times Lance has scared him nearly into a stroke. “They’re good for knocking.”

“Dude, you look like a gargoyle holding flaming dirt like that.” Lance approaches the open door of the furnace, holding his hands out to it like it’s a campfire.

Keith tosses the coal in. Drops of water cling to the tips of Lance’s hair and stain his shirt at the shoulders with dots. “Still pouring out there?”

“And it doesn’t show signs of stopping,” Lance says with a defeated nod.

Keith actually does groan now. “We’ve been on the water for days now, and this storm is going to add another _week_ to the trip before we even see Greenland.”

“I know.” Lance shoves his hands in his pockets and leans against the wall. Keith could tell him that all surfaces in this room are covered with soot, and that Lance’s clothes will get filthy, but he decides against it. “I’m getting cabin fever cooped up on this ship. I can’t wait to get to Greenland even though the most exciting thing we’ll see there is probably penguins or something.”

Keith pauses to take a mental inventory. “I don’t think there are penguins in Greenland,” he says slowly.

“Sure there are! Greenland is icy, and where there’s ice, there’s penguins.” Keith hates the way Lance says it so matter-of-fact.

“That’s not how penguins work!”

“We’ll settle this with Pidge.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “The only thing I care about finding in Greenland is Six.”

Lance looks off to some point in space, demeanor softening. “What do you think she’s like?”

“Six?” Her blurry image from the CCTV footage comes to the front of Keith’s mind. The white hair, the white fog, it was all so surreal. If it’s really her on the tape, Keith doesn’t really care what her personality is, as long as she can help them end the war. “I don’t know.”

“She looked so powerful,” Lance sighs, and judging by that smile on his face, he’s already crushing on her based on seven whole seconds of The Gas Station Network. “Do you think she’s pretty?”

“I don’t know,” Keith repeats, eyebrow raised. “The image had maybe fourteen pixels total in it.”

Lance doesn’t seem to hear him at all. “Wait, do you even think girls are pretty?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?” Keith scoffs.

“Well, I figured, since you’re, you know, with Shiro and everything now, maybe you don’t think girls are that attractive,” Lance rolls along like it’s not news to anybody.

“ _What_?” Keith nearly stammers. “Back up. Who told you I was with Shiro?”

Lance looks at him like Keith just said two plus two equals eight. He ducks his head down, eyebrows drawing together, and juts out his bottom lip. “Uh, you did? With your body language? Come on, it was kind of obvious how you just went from,” Lance clears his throat and promptly puts on a falsetto voice that sounds nothing like Keith, “‘Oh, I love Shiro so much. He doesn’t know that I lie awake at night thinking about him. When will he ever notice me?’ to sharing a _bed_ with him every night?”

Keith fights to muscle down the blush rising in his cheeks. “I never said that,” he defends.

“Oh, and don’t even get me started on how you waltzed into breakfast yesterday morning wearing the exact same shirt Shiro had on just a few days ago.”

Keith has to relent at this point. It’s not like they were trying to hide it, anyway. Keith just liked their little bubble, but it’s hard to maintain a bubble when you share such close quarters with your teammates twenty four hours per day.

At the memory of Shiro’s soft shirt and scent surrounding him—and what they had done the night before—Keith smiles to himself. “Guess we’re caught. The whole team knows, probably?”

“Everyone but Krolia. I’ll let you break that news to her, though,” Lance offers, smiling back, and he isn’t so bad to be around.

“She knows, I’m sure of it. Nothing slips past her.” And if she knows and hasn’t said anything to Keith yet, then she must be fine with it. Keith knows she’s soft on Shiro. She trusts him—trusted him long before they knew he was Altean too.

“I’m happy for you, man. I really am.” Lance’s voice softens. “Did you ever think you’d end up with another Altean?”

Keith hesitates. His knee-jerk response is to say he never thought he’d end up with anyone—that he’d be dead and gone by now. The fact that the opposite is true—that he’s alive and kicking and safe in the arms of the friend he’s loved for years—makes his chest ache blissfully. “Since we’re rare enough to be an endangered species, I’d say no.”

Lance tilts his head back against the wall, eyes cast toward the ceiling. He’s going to have fun washing all the grime out of his hair later. “It’s so depressing to think about. And I can’t see myself with anybody but an Altean.”

“Really?” The answer intrigues Keith. Lance stuck him as the kind of guy who’d drool over anything that moves, and humans don’t look that different from Alteans in terms of attractiveness. “You haven’t had any love interests in all your youthful years?”

“Absolutely not.” Lance exhales a laugh like the image itself is ridiculous. “My whole life, I’ve been hoping that I live to see the end of this war and get off this boring planet. I don’t think I could ever love someone who didn’t share our heritage.”

“So _that’s_ why you’re already in love with Six without even meeting her first,” Keith teases.

Lance lets out a full laugh this time, shoulders shaking and everything. “Wishful thinking, maybe.”

“Let’s see.” Keith cocks his head to the side, pretending to think. “Your options so far are Romelle, who’s too high-maintenance in my opinion, Pidge, who’s more gremlin than female, and Six, who for all we know is thousands of years old with that white hair of hers.”

Lance wastes zero seconds responding with, “And your mom.”

Keith glares at Lance, unimpressed, lips forming a hard line. He folds his arms over his chest and juts out his chin. “For the record, I do think girls are pretty. Especially Veronica.”

“Ugh!” Lance leaps off the wall and waves both hands in front of him, shutting his eyes to hide from the no doubt repulsive image that just popped into his head. Keith considers it a win. “Fine, I won’t date your mom.”

“We are changing the subject and never bringing it up again,” Keith deadpans. Seeing that the furnace is as steady as she is dirty, he brushes past Lance and heads for the door. Lance trails next to him, hands in his pockets.

“Hey, how far can you teleport?” Keith asks.

“Some kilometers,” Lance throws out. “But I’m trying to stretch it farther. Why?”

Thinking that he really wants to fuck Shiro soon but lacks a bottle of lube that Lance evidently won’t be able to snatch for him in the middle of nowhere, Keith just shrugs. “No reason,” he says, figuring he can work around it.


	9. Chapter 9

Either the storm cell is following them, or storm cells are much bigger when they blanket the ocean, uninterrupted by mountains or other land obstacles, free to rage about over the peaks of the torrential waves that its own winds kick up. Whatever the case, it’s getting to be ridiculous. They’ve been stuck muscling out the same storm for two days straight with not a ray of sunshine to break up the gray. The storm isn’t so bad that they’re in danger—for now—but the wind speed and sheer size of some of the waves has them cutting back their engine to a slow crawl. At this rate, it will take forever and a half to reach Greenland. Keith thanks the gods that Six wasn’t hiding somewhere on the opposite side of the globe.

If there’s one silver lining hiding in this dark, depressing cloud, it’s that the Galra won’t be able to bother them in the storm. It would be too impossible, even for advanced spacecraft, to navigate the wind steadily enough for an attack.

Keith is too agitated to spend his hours watching Pidge kick Matt’s ass at video games. Something about the storm brewing outside leaves him on edge, and it’s not just psychological, because he can feel it in his joints and fingertips like electrical arthritis.

Shiro has been a good— _very_ good—outlet for Keith’s energy, but their libido, tragically, has its limits. So when he’s alone, Keith takes it out on the furnace with a few good punching balls of fire into the already flaming coal.

The temperature is rising in the boiler room, almost living up to its name. Keith wipes the back of his arm over the sweat on his forehead. It’s a shame they can’t go too fast with the weather being what it is. Keith thinks he can get this baby up to speeds it’s never seen before with his power a constant source of raging fuel for the turbines.

A mechanical moan creeps up for the bottom of the ship like the echoes of a massive whale longing for its pod. Steam hisses from the furnace and fills the room. Keith coughs a few times from the sudden onslaught on his lungs, about to filter the hot, condensed air away from his face because that’s another branch of his power that he recently learned he can do. But before he can, the boat lurches to a stop and nearly throws Keith into the fire.

He stops himself with a hand on the open furnace door, his fingers sinking into the grime. Before he can feel gross about it, Lance and Kosmo both faze into the room. Kosmo immediately nuzzles up to his side, and Keith’s chest hollows out.

“What’s wrong?” he asks Lance.

“Something’s weird on deck,” is all he says.

The familiar feeling of trans-physical travel rushes over Keith’s body, and by the time he closes and opens his eyes for a single blink, he’s out in the rain on the top deck, his teammates all around him with their gazes all trained toward the sky.

“What is it?” Keith shouts to Shiro and Krolia over the sound of water droplets slapping the metal floor.

“We think the Galra are here!” Krolia points to a dark cavern in the cumulonimbus clouds.

Keith has to shield his eyes and squint to see what everyone else is staring at. Four deep purple lights, spaced evenly apart in the shape of a square, burn through the haze and illuminate the water below menacingly. The body of the ship is still invisible, but the shadow it casts in the clouds is unmistakable.

“What? How?”

The cloaking feature that Pidge rigged to their ship should have hidden them from all radar and telecommunications, human and alien alike. The Galra couldn’t have tracked them in this storm, unless they followed them all the way from New York. But even if that’s the case, why haven’t they attacked yet? They’ve been open and vulnerable for _days_ out here on the water.

“We don’t know,” Shiro answers, hands in fists at each side.

“How long have they been there?” The anxiety Keith has been feeling lately must have been accumulating to this. He feels charged out in the rain, like he’s been struck by lightning. He wants to fly up to that ship and knock it out of the sky.

“We only just noticed it a few minutes ago, right before we stopped the ship,” Matt says, cupping his hands around his mouth. “But I checked, and it doesn’t show up on any of our equipment, even this close.”

“And?” Keith prompts.

“For all we know,” Matt continues, “it could have been tailing us the whole time.”

“Fuck,” Keith curses, lips smattered with rain. His clothes are already soaked through, and he uses his gift to fight the chill before it can settle into his bones. “Well, then. Shiro, can you take it down?”

“It’s too out of range. It would have to come closer.”

That certainly wouldn’t make things easier. If their boat takes one hit too many, everyone would be left to float like fish carcass on the surface of the water. They’re too stranded to engage in heavy battle at the moment. Maybe that’s what the Galra have been waiting for.

“Lance?” Keith tries instead. “It’s close enough for you to get in, right?”

“And present myself on a silver platter in the middle of a Galra warship?” Lance squawks. “Are you crazy?”

Keith growls. “Then just drop me off, and I’ll handle it.”

“I don’t know if we need to do anything about it,” Pidge says, pushing against the wind to get closer to Keith. “It hasn’t done anything to us. It’s just been hovering.”

“It hasn’t done anything to us _yet_ ,” Keith grits. “But they’re Galra. They’ll try to kill us eventually!”

“I’m just saying I don’t think it’ll be smart to start a fight when they have the advantage over us!”

By the looks on everyone’s faces, Keith is outnumbered. Even Shiro gives him a sympathetic glance and rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Pidge is right,” he tries to say as softly as he can over the roar of the rain. “We’ll lose if they start shooting at us from that distance.”

“You want to just let us be sitting ducks?” He tries to appeal to Shiro’s Garrison side, the side that loves a brawl and the adrenaline that comes with it. “Maybe they’re not expecting us to do anything either, and we can catch them off guard.”

Shiro looks at him with fat drops of water clinging to his eyelashes and sliding down the slope of his jaw. Keith would be frustrated at Shiro stomping on his need to hit something if he wasn’t so beautiful. “We’re not prepared for a fight right now. We’re wet and cold and severely strained on visibility. None of us want to fight. We aren’t able to.”

“I want to,” Keith insists. “I can.”

Shiro’s hand makes the short jump from his shoulder to his jaw. His eyes soften sympathetically.

“Let’s regroup inside. From there, we can—”

The ship rocks tremendously, almost throwing everyone off their feet. Keith grips Shiro’s arms for balance and casts his gaze toward the sea. The waves are growing by the second, pounding against the hull without mercy. The peaks look as tall as mountains, and just as hard, just as cold.

The ocean laps at the railing and bleeds onto deck. They all take healthy steps toward the center to avoid the water, but it’s useless. Water is everywhere now.

Their ship groans again as the waves swell and lob them sideways.

“Shiro, can she hold this?” Matt shouts over the shriek of the wind.

Shiro gets down on one knee and flattens his palm against the floor. With tightly shut eyes, he concentrates, then nods. “There’s no damage yet. The walls seem to be holding strong for now.”

“We need to find port!” Krolia says, facing Pidge and Matt. “Are our GPS systems functional?”

“They should be!” Pidge says, lacking the confidence needed to help anyone relax. A wave splits over the bow of the ship, separating into two curtains of mist like gray wings. “Unless this is a magnetic storm, which I’m really beginning to believe it is!”

“What the hell does that mean?” Keith shouts.

“It means—!” As the ship is knocked again, everyone partners up to have something to hold on to. “—our little boat doesn’t stand a chance!”

“I’m going to find out if we’re close to any land at all,” Matt says, taking unsteady steps toward the door.

Lance grabs Veronica’s sleeve. “You and Romelle go inside, too. We’ll stay here and make sure the Galra don’t bust a move.”

“I’m not leaving you out here!” Veronica protests. “We’re too vulnerable!”

“I’m third in line to die, but you don’t have a number. I’ll be fine!”

“You can still get _hurt_ ,” she says, taking off her water-stained glasses and stowing them in her pocket. “My job is to protect you, little brother, even when you make idiot decisions.”

“I’m not little!”

Romelle wraps her arms around herself. “I’m a protector too, but Hunk doesn’t need me to stay alive. I’m going inside!” She scurries off for safety. Hunk ducks his head and tries to follow him, but Lance and Shiro both call him back with a tired groan of his name.

“What? I’m useless against water! You guys don’t need me out here!” he whines.

“Boys,” Krolia says, her head turned to face the tempest. “The ship has moved.”

Keith searches the heavens, and his gaze lands on the purple lights that had been just beyond the clouds. The Galra ship descends and exposes itself, dark and frightening and so much bigger than the ones Keith remembers.

The lights flare, and in the same instant, everything as far as the eye can see is swallowed up by water. This wave crashes over the deck, hugging it from both sides like the arms of a kraken trying to drown the ship in a watery grave. It punches Keith square in the chest and pushes him onto his ass. The others aren’t fairing too much better either.

The wind cuts into his wet clothes like a wiffle ball and makes him feel just as hollow. Even with regulating his temperature with his gift, he’s still freezing. His teammates will catch pneumonia or worse if they’re out in this weather much longer.

They barely have enough time to recover from the first wave when the Galra lights flash and another wave, just as oppressive and ferocious as its predecessor, comes down on them. Keith grabs Pidge to weigh them both down on the deck. He catches the way Shiro wraps metal around his ankles just in time before the water hits, anchoring himself to the ship, with Hunk hooked to one of his elbows. Lance, Veronica, Krolia, and Kosmo cling to each other, and they all survive this round.

They’re so powerless against Mother Nature. A threat is literally looming above them, but they can hardly breathe enough to concentrate on defense. If the Galra charge their firearms, they’re gone. They’re already losing.

“It’s them!” Pidge yells like eureka.

“We know it’s them,” Keith says, having to push all of his hair back over his head just to see two feet in front of him.

“No, I mean—” she stammers out. “They’re controlling the storm! This is their attack!”

“How is that even possible?” Lance shouts from his own huddle a few yards away.

“I don’t know, but, we gotta—their ship charges before each wave. If we can beat them, we can end the storm!”

“Shiro!” Keith calls, strained.

“I think I can now!” Shiro detaches himself to the floor of the deck and rushes for the railing. He turns his head toward the ship in the sky, guessing where the best place to grab and tear it apart might be. Hunk groups with Lance and the others.

Keith hates the sight of Shiro there, standing at the edge against the blackness of the sea and sky. His stomach drops in warning, sinks like a rock in a pond, sinks just like they’re all about to.

The ship’s lights go off again, and there’s no buffer of time between the trigger and the shot.

Water shoots up against the ship, building a wall between the Galra ship and the team. The wave dwarfs Shiro to the size of a krill in the maw of a whale, and it sucks him right in to be swallowed whole.

One minute, Shiro is there, gripping the railing and staring in awe at the power of the ocean. The next second, he’s gone from sight completely.

“Shiro!” Keith screams with a hoarse voice.

He abandons Pidge—not his best moment—and rushes for the edge of the boat. Hands wrapped tight around the railing, he searches desperately in the turbulence for any sign of life. Shiro can’t be dead, can he? Keith would feel something if Number One died. They would all feel something. He can’t lose Shiro when they’re so close…

There, in the murky depths, Keith finds a tuft of white amidst all the dark.

Without a second of hesitation, Keith throws himself over the railing—also not his best moment. He hears a call for his name that sounds like it comes from Krolia. He thinks a silent apology to her as the water comes up to meet him.

He’s already cold, but it’s a shock to be suddenly surrounded by a substance that feels like nothing more than liquid ice. His clothes are heavy and make him sink, but he gives powerful kicks to keep himself oriented upright and look for Shiro.

The body still floats there on the surface, but Shiro’s clothes start to weigh him down too. Keith swings his arms to swim up when the whole ocean is trying to push him down. He intercepts Shiro, hooking his elbows under his armpits, and tries to compensate losing the function of two limbs with more forceful kicks from his legs.

Fatigue comes to him quickly. His lungs are out of air, and it gets darker the further they sink. The underside of their ship looks like the belly of a fat shark floating above them.

Keith could go like this.

It’s surprisingly quiet under the sea. The rush and howl from above blends into white noise, the sound of his own weakening heart beating in his ears. The only thing that keeps him kicking is the body in his arms.

He feels Shiro’s life—he _senses_ it—and he can’t let it end like this. Not here. Not now.

If only the ocean would cooperate with him. He’s not strong enough to carry both of them to the surface. His last bubble of air escapes him as he kicks and kicks and kicks. He covers no ground, and it’s hopeless. His whole body hurts, his limbs pulse and throb from the strain. His head feels like it’s going to explode like it did the day he got his gift. But this, he attributes to a dangerous lack of oxygen.

Something solid settles under his feet. In Keith’s delusion, he thinks maybe they reached the bottom of the ocean, and they can just watch what happens on the surface like a different planet and sway together like coral in the currents.

Keith opens his stinging eyes with the hope of seeing the sun fragment itself through the water, but it’s just the same shades of gray as before.

The presence under him lifts. Water rushes past them as they are shot back up toward the surface at a conscious speed. He’s flying, but he’s not moving. Something is pushing them up to the boat, and Keith is just along for the ride.

He takes his first gulp of rain-polluted air when they breach the surface. He pants and looks down, expecting to see maybe a huge whale that had come up to feed. But his shoes touch nothing but water.

Holding Shiro closer, Keith lets out a truly surprised scream. The swell of wave holding him up wobbles a bit as it bends down. He’s unsteady where he stands because he’s _standing on water_ , and he has no clue where to put his feet, because his feet shouldn’t be where they are right now.

Hallucination or not, Keith feels the very solid metal of the ship’s deck collide with his back as the wave deposits him and Shiro back on the boat. As soon as he lands with an “Oof…!” the water relaxes like a muscle and runs over the floor, spilling down the sides of the boat like all the other waves had.

“Keith!”

Krolia is there, holding his shoulders. Keith is sitting on his ass, arms still locked tight around Shiro and refusing to unfurl.

Shiro is unconscious, his entire upper half leaning having against the length of Keith’s body. Keith holds him close, shivering, and raises his body temperature to save both of them from hypothermia.

“How did you do that?” Krolia asks, astonishment in her voice.

“D-Do wh-a-at?” Keith clatters.

He’s still taking in lungfuls of air, panting against Shiro’s temple. The body against him is also breathing, although very slowly. He warms his hands with a brief flash of fire, then rubs his palms over the back of Shiro’s drenched shirt.

“You were controlling the water, Keith.”

Keith shakes his head from the suggestion, unbelieving. “That w-wasn’t me-e…”

“We saw it,” Pidge says from somewhere. Keith doesn’t care to open his eyes to find out where. “The water was bending to your will. You used it to save you and Shiro!”

“What?” Lance crows. “He gets two gifts, too? I thought I was the only cool one.”

“I’m f-fucking fine, by the way. Thanks for asking,” Keith bites.

“Look,” Veronica interrupts. Keith bothers to open his eyes this time, because there’s still a Galra ship they have to worry about.

All eyes toward the sky, they watch in stilled confusion as said ship raises back into the clouds and makes a slow turn.

“Is it… leaving?” Hunk asks in everyone’s place.

“Unbelievable,” Krolia breathes as they all watch the ship creep away and vanish from view.

In its wake is a break in the clouds.


	10. Chapter 10

It doesn’t take long for Shiro to wake.

They get him stretched out on one of the kitchen tables, wrapped in the spare towels they could find around the ship. Keith ignores the fact that he should probably change out of his own wet clothes in favor of hovering over Shiro and doing nothing helpful but frowning.

But Shiro coughs up some water as he regains consciousness, and everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief.

“Shiro,” Keith calls softly, leaning close and pushing Shiro’s floppy hair off his forehead.

“Keith,” Shiro says weakly. Then, “you’re soaked.”

Keith laughs once through his nose. “You are too.”

Saying so must remind Shiro that he is covered in water that’s, indeed, freezing. Shivers kick in immediately, and he draws the towels tighter around himself. “No kidding. Are the Galra still here? Did we all make it inside?”

His eyes dart to the others standing around them, counting faces.

“We’re all here.” Krolia confirms. “The ship left us alone.”

“I don’t really remember what happened after I fell overboard. Did I miss a good fight?” He chuckles lightly.

“You didn’t miss much of anything.” Pidge says from where she’s cocooned in her own towel. “They didn’t attack us again. They just sat there, then… disappeared.”

“That’s strange. They’ve never done that before.”

“That’s not the only thing that’s never happened before today,” Lance says with a lingering pout. Shiro follows his blue eyes to where they stare at Keith. In fact, everyone is looking at Keith.

Shiro draws his eyebrows together. “What is it?”

When he looks to Keith for clarity, Keith unfolds his arms and sighs. “When I dove in to get you, I don’t know what happened in there. We were both going down. But then—and I still kinda don’t believe it, but everyone else does—they said I was controlling the water to get us both back on the boat.”

“He has two gifts!” Lance cuts in.

Shiro’s eyebrows shoot up, but not in surprise. Rather, he looks impressed. Maybe even proud. “That’s amazing,” he assures.

Keith shrugs. “I sure as hell wasn’t expecting it. Water doesn’t really _fit_ me. Fire, yeah, but this seems like a weird add-on.”

“I think it suits you very well, Keith,” Krolia says. Keith gazes across the room to find her smiling softly at him.

He looks down at his hands that are so used to carrying fire, so used to heat. The water of the ocean was so cool against his skin, such a contrast to what he knows—shocking, even. He didn’t think he needed anything but fire, but that’s not to say that he doesn’t want the gift of water too. Hell, one more advantage he has over the Galra.

A smirk creeping up on his face, Keith draws his arms out and away from the front of his body. The moisture that clings to his skin and clothes follows the line of motion. He watches as a stream of water floats in the air between his hands, his body now completely dry.

It doesn’t pulse like fire does. It doesn’t feel alive like fire does. But what it lacks in passion and heat, it more than makes up for in tranquility and vitality. It’s a comforting weight.

Keith glances at Shiro and sees him already looking, a gentle grin on his face. He pulls the same move and washes the water off of his body, and he can see the exact moment warmth returns to Shiro’s core when he stops shivering.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

“The rest of us are still in danger of hypothermia over here,” Pidge grumbles.

Keith laughs and helps them dry off. The more water to takes into his grasp, the heavier he can feel it gets. That’ll have to be something to work on. He wants to be able to use his gift to life ten times his weight, like Shiro can with giant anchors and whole fucking steamships.

The water washes down the kitchen sink, as does the remaining tension on everyone’s shoulders.

Shiro’s hand slips into Keith’s. Keith grasps him back, warming Shiro’s hand between both of his.

“You saved me,” Shiro says to just him.

“I owed you one.”

He’s tugged down but goes willingly. When their lips meet, Keith sends him warmth in waves to make up all he missed during the storm. Shiro smiles against him.

“That’s cute and all,” Matt’s voice breaks them apart. Keith straightens up and turns a little pink because he had actually forgotten that they aren’t alone. Shiro’s ears are red. “But can you save the post-battle kissy face for later?”

“Excellent choice of words,” Lance says.

“We need you to start up the ship again so we can get the hell out of here,” Matt continues.

“Right.” Keith clears his throat. “We should find out how close we are now that out GPS is in the clear.”

“Our biggest priority is getting to land,” Veronica adds. “Now that we know the Galra have implemented geological warfare, we can’t let ourselves get caught vulnerable again.”

“They’re getting stronger,” Romelle says.

Hunk nods forlornly. “They’re advancing faster than we are. We’re gonna be doomed.”

“We are not,” Shiro asserts. “We are so close to finding Six, and when we do, it’s the Galra who’ll have to start watching their tails. We focus on the mission, and we won’t get consumed with worrying about what _could_ happen.”

Even coming back from half-death, Shiro still falls into his leadership role flawlessly.

Krolia nods her assent. “We all have our jobs. Let’s not waste a moment, now.”

Romelle offers to help Shiro back to his room while Keith goes to tend to the furnace. Matt and Pidge go back to navigation to find out where the hell they are and how many more hours until they reach the shore.

“That’s right, everybody. Chop, chop!” Hunk calls, his enthusiasm returning. “Dinner in two hours for a battle well-done!”

…

Keith senses when Shiro’s nightmare starts, like his has an innate instinct that blares the “Shiro needs me” alarm in his head.

Eyes drifting open, the details slowly come back to him. They’re in bed in Keith’s room on the ship. It’s been a few hours since the Galra geo-attack. Shiro is on his side in front of Keith, back pressed to his chest. Keith’s arm is thrown haphazardly over Shiro’s waist. With the gentle sway of the boat, it’s warm and perfect.

Except Shiro’s tense, the muscles in his back rigid as stone. Keith feels his ribs expand and contract faster than they should during sleep. A hitched murmur sounds in Shiro’s throat.

Keith gives him a little squeeze and tucks his head against the back of Shiro’s neck where drops of sweat start to bead on his skin. “Shirooo…” Keith coos. He plants tiny, tired kisses along Shiro’s hairline. “Wake up, Shiro,” he says again, adding a gentle shake.

At last Shiro jerks back to reality. He takes in a sharp breath through his nose, but when consciousness takes a hold of him rather than the nightmare, he relaxes in Keith’s arms.

“Did I wake you?” he asks Keith quietly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Keith’s elbow props him up so he can lean over Shiro’s face and kiss his cheek til it’s tender.

Shiro turns his head to intercept one of the kisses. Keith less so connects their lips and more so rests his mouth on Shiro’s, head heavy. They breathe in sync, then Shiro hums.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Keith asks, teeth scraping over Shiro’s top lip.

“It was just the Galra, as always,” Shiro says. Keith can relate. “There was the water, there was losing you. Felt like I was drowning all over again.”

Keith presses his forehead to Shiro’s temple. The arm around him slides down, seeking out Shiro’s fingers and squeezing them with his own. Shiro angles his hand to lace their fingers properly. “The Galra are gone, I’m here, we’re floating.”

Shiro takes it in. The up-and-down sway of the waves below them count long seconds.

When Shiro shifts, Keith feels it. His long spine rolls out the kinks. The space where they’re tightly pressed together heats up with contact and friction. At Shiro’s ass grinding against his groin, sweet and thick as molasses, Keith has to bite back a satisfied sound. Shiro does it again, and there’s no denying that he’s doing it deliberately.

“Keith,” Shiro breathes, “I need you to do something for me.”

Keith hums, his hand leaving Shiro’s so he can grab his hip, holding him in place, and grind forward. “Mm, need me to take your mind off it?”

Shiro arches again, making a point to line up the cleft of his ass along where Keith is slowly getting hard in his sweats. “Please.”

“I can start off by showing you that I’m right here,” Keith murmurs. He rolls into Shiro, bringing him back against it with the hand on his hip. “It was just a dream. You feel how real I am?”

Shiro nods his answer, mouth busy seeking out Keith’s for a sloppy kiss. It’s not easy, doing it sideways, but the touch of Shiro’s lips at all is enough to send sparks down Keith’s body. He slides his hand up from Shiro’s hip, disappearing under the front of his shirt and walking teasingly up his chest.

He teases the first nipple he finds, pinching the hard area of sensitive skin with his fingers. Shiro’s reaction is gold. His hips jerk back, and his jaw falls open, giving Keith’s tongue passage to enter. The inside of his mouth is warm and wet and tastes like something Keith will never grow tired of.

Keith’s hand pulls itself from Shiro’s shirt in favor of cupping him between the legs, greedy to touch anything and everything he can. Shiro’s already completely hard, and his size makes it easy to find the sharp outline of his shaft through the sweats. At the same time he grinds forward with his hips, he presses back with his hand to trap Shiro in his attention. Shiro responds beautifully with a low moan.

Keith breaks the kiss to pant. Shiro’s bottom lip glistens with saliva. It almost tempts him to delve back in and run his tongue over it, but he needs his mouth to say, “Up on your hands and knees for me?”

His request is executed dutifully—enthusiastically, Keith might add. Shiro gets up enough to slip out of his shirt before propping up on all fours. In the low light, it’s hard to see how Shiro’s round ass cheeks so nicely fill up the pack of his pants, but Keith compensates by rubbing his hands over the globes to get the full picture. Two fingers drag down the center, and Shiro practically tries to fuck himself on Keith’s hand even through the barrier of his clothes.

Groaning, Keith decides he’s waited long enough. Gripping Shiro’s waistband, he tears the sweats down until they’re bunched up around his bent knees. Thanks to Shiro’s habit of sleeping commando, there’s nothing left to keep him from being exposed to the breath-heated air and Keith’s hungry gaze.

Keith is straining in his own pants now, but he neglects his body so both hands are free to worship Shiro’s. He reaches down between his legs, playing with light touches where Shiro hangs low and hard.

Shiro lets out a breath, sensitive from the anticipation of touch. Keith wraps his hand around him.

“So the nightmare is all forgotten now?” Keith asks, giving a slow drag up and down.

“God,” Shiro moans, face hidden from view. If Keith had to guess, his eyes would be closed tightly, full lips parted, ears red. “You’re the only thing on my mind now. All I can think about is you and your hands,” he promises.

“So,” Keith hums, a lilt in his voice. His free hand comes up to brush around Shiro’s hole. Even the simple touch has Shiro rocking on his knees, needing to get closer to those fingers. “We can stop here then.”

Shiro heaves out a laugh and drops his head to rest on his forearms. “This feels too good. Please don’t stop.”

“As you wish.” Keith can’t wipe the smile from his face, even as he pokes two fingers into his mouth to coat with saliva. When Shiro hears the wet pop of Keith fingers sliding from between his lips, he shudders.

The touch returns to his entrance, this time with the intention of breeching. Shiro kicks his knees just a few more inches apart.

“I’ve never done this before,” Keith offers as a warning in case he’s about to embarrass himself. Then he remembers to add, “On someone else.”

Shiro reads what he put between the lines. When he talks, Keith hears the smile in his tone. “I’m sure you’re fantastic at it.”

With big expectations to fill, Keith slides his first finger in until there’s nothing left to give. Shiro takes it easily, wiggling his hips as he adjusts to the prodding. Keith’s other hand leaves his cock to return to his hip, holding them both steady. It’s tight, like Keith knows it will be. He feels Shiro’s every movement from inside, and he bites his lip in excitement of what’s to come.

“How’s that?” Keith asks in a voice that’s more wobbly than he would like.

“You can do a little more.” Shiro punctuates the statement with a push of his hips. “Let me feel you.”

Keith obliges and inserts the second of his slicked fingers. The sheath around the two digits tightens considerably, and when Keith gently moves his hand back and forth, he can feel the pull of the walls.

He moans a little. “And that?”

“‘S good…”  Shiro rocks back and forth with the movement of Keith’s hand. The tension leaves his body bit by bit—Keith can feel it all, has no choice to feel everything about Shiro’s body. He twists at the wrist, and when he meets less resistance, he tries spreading his fingers.

Shiro jerks against the touch, causing Keith to worry he did too much too fast. But Shiro moves again, arching back into Keith’s hand and groaning deep in his throat. His breathing becomes labored.

“Keith,” Shiro warns in a lost voice. “Please give me you already.”

The image of entering Shiro like his fingers are now, of taking him for all that he has, crosses Keith’s mind. His dick, still trapped in his pajama pants and crying for attention, aches even more now.

“Fuck,” Keith says as an expression of both pleasure and frustration. “We don’t have lube.”

Shiro lifts his head and faces Keith. His eyes are darkened with lust, fixated on Keith’s face like he’s a man dying of thirst and Keith is his only oasis. “I mean, I could suck you off. Spit will have to do.”

“You really want this, huh?” Keith says, smiling, fingers curling to illustrate his point.

“I really want _you_ ,” Shiro confirms.

Keith pulls his fingers out and slides up next to Shiro to deliver a deep kiss. “I really want you, too,” he sighs against his mouth.

They both sit up on their knees as the kiss deepens even more. Shiro’s hands cup both sides of Keith’s jaw. He can feel Shiro’s heat, hard and lined up to his abdomen, through his clothes. He needs to get out of them, or he just might die.

Shiro is already there, though, hands sliding down his chest and pinching the edge of his shirt when they reach it. They separate just long enough for Shiro to pull the shirt off, then they’re drawn back together like magnets. A hand cups Keith through his pants, and the first touch sends a shock through him. His nerves scream neglect, and he can’t help the moan that Shiro eats right up.

“We haven’t been giving you enough attention,” Shiro murmurs. He slides his hands into Keith’s pants and pushes them down.

“I’ll be fine,” he says between kisses. “I want to focus on you.”

“Focus on my mouth,” is what Shiro offers before changing up his kisses to explore more of Keith’s body.

He starts on his neck, scraping his teeth down the skin. Keith’s hands go to his hair, holding his head even as it descends lower and lower. The hot breath that Shiro fans against him leaves a cool spot whenever he changes positions. Keith closes his eyes, doing what Shiro asked and focusing on his mouth.

A hand wraps around the base of his cock, and Keith holds his breath when he feels hot air against the tip. Shiro licks him a few times before closing his lips around the head and slowly sliding down. Keith’s groan lasts as long as Shiro’s mouth takes him inch by inch.

He looks down to see it all happening. His fingers stroke Shiro’s bangs out of the way to give him a clearer view of his face. His gorgeous dark eyebrows furrow together in concentration. His jaw flexes to accommodate Keith’s size on his tongue. That tongue works hard to coat his skin in saliva, all while Shiro gradually moves his head back and forth.

“Mm, Shiro…” Keith almost whines, tugging on his hair. Shiro picks up on the warning signs and slowly pulls off, licking his lips clean off the fluids that collected there.

“Your mouth is too good,” Keith says in breathless exasperation. “That’s why I can’t afford to focus too hard on it right now.”

Shiro smiles and wipes his thumb over his own bottom lip. “Right. Now is the time to focus on you sticking that in me.”

Keith snorts, shaking his head. “Turn around already.”

Shiro kisses his forehead before moving. They both take a moment to kick their pants off all the way, the articles going to join their forgotten shirts somewhere in the room. Shiro resumes his position on his hands and knees, Keith behind him and trying not to come just from anticipation.

His hands glide down Shiro’s back and over his ass. His thumbs sink easily into the flesh as he pulls Shiro apart to take a look. One hand comes to hold himself steady as he inches forward. The slide is slow and tight. Shiro groans and lowers his top half like his arms are giving out, leaving just his ass propped up in the air. When Keith gets about halfway in, he grabs Shiro’s hips and stops so they can both breathe.

“Okay?” he asks.

“It’s perfect,” Shiro promises, voice gravelly. He wiggles his his encouragingly, prompting Keith to glide the rest of the way in.

He’s not sure if it’s own own pulse he feels or Shiro’s but it’s hot and intense and Shiro’s squeezing him so wonderfully. It’s akin to being engulfed in flames, a sensation that spreads from his core and reaches all the way out to his fingers and toes. Maybe it’s even more special because Shiro is the one who’s giving it to him, Shiro’s the one he gets to share it with.

“Keith,” Shiro calls, intent in his voice.

“Mm?” he says back in a bit of a daze.

“Doing alright back there?”

“Focusing on not letting this end too soon.”

Shiro breathes out a light laugh. “Well, when you can move, please do. You feel so good.”

The praise heats up his body like a blush. Moving down onto all fours, Keith blankets Shiro’s body with his own and kisses the back of his neck. With his hands planted firmly on either side of Shiro’s arms, Keith kicks his hips back and drags them forward again. The pull on his cock draws a hiss from his throat. Something rumbles in Shiro’s chest, and Keith sees stars.

He rocks to a slow rhythm, pushing far enough into Shiro that their skin flushes together with every thrust. Keith wants to cover every inch of him. As the heat grows, Keith pumps harder and harder. Shiro’s moans increase in volume and frequency—he’s calling for something that only Keith can give him. He gives Keith more praise and encouragement, both with words— _yes, right there, oh, Keith, Keith, Keith_ —and with the way he leans back to meet him in the middle every time.

Overcome by the pleasure and pressure building up inside of him, Keith sinks his teeth into the flesh of where Shiro’s shoulder meets his neck. He’s distantly aware of feeling Shiro reach down and pump himself in time with Keith’s movements. To keep from spilling curses each time Shiro clenches around him, Keith finds a new patch of skin to bite and hold onto like an anchor.

By the time he climaxes, Shiro’s shoulders and upper back are covered in red teeth marks.

Keith lifts his head and presses his mouth to the side of Shiro’s ear. He comes without warning—though, it was inevitable—gasping for breath around the syllables of Shiro’s name.

“Keith…” Shiro answers him like a prayer, hips grinding backward into Keith until he’s releasing into his hand. Keith nearly passes out when he feels Shiro come, his walls tightening and fluttering around his already too sensitive dick.

He slips out, sits back on his heels. Before Shiro turns around, Keith catches a glimpse of the mess he left in and around Shiro’s ass.

“That’s gonna be awful to clean up,” he thinks out loud. “I guess condoms are also on the list of things to buy when we find land.”

Shiro wraps an arm around his shoulders. “I don’t mind at all,” he says with a smile, hair a mess, covered in sweat and absolutely beautiful.

“I don’t want to sound cliche, but that was amazing.” Is saying thank you to someone after fucking them socially acceptable? Because Keith really wants to thank Shiro for all of that.

“There’s nothing cliche at all,” Shiro says, chuckling. “It was amazing for me, too. You’re amazing.”

He kisses Keith’s giggling mouth. Keith’s hand goes to the back of his neck instinctually, fingertips brushing along the ridges that bear the pattern of his teeth.

He breaks the kiss, angling his head around to see the damage he left behind. “I really did a number on you,” he says in awe, tracing each of the little marks.

“That’s how I knew it felt good.” Shiro leans in and nudges his nose against Keith’s cheek. “But if anyone sees these, I’m gonna have to retaliate by leaving a huge hickey, and you’d have to explain that one to your mom.”

“You don’t wanna do that and end up on her radar.” Keith nuzzles him back. “But I’d like some love bites from you anyway.”

Shiro runs a hand up and down Keith’s back. “Wanna go take a shower?”

“It’s the middle of the night, Shiro.”

“I sure as hell can’t go back to sleep like this.” He gestures vaguely between his legs, and Keith can’t help but snort again. “Plus, it’ll be like a little adventure. Everyone else is asleep. We won’t be bothered. Just you and me.”

“You make a compelling argument.”

Shiro smiles, pleased with himself, and stands. Keith takes the offered hand, finding himself pulled into Shiro’s arms. They make a mad dash for the showers down the hall, naked, because they can’t be bothered with clothing. But Shiro was right—everyone else is sound asleep, and the only sounds in the bathroom are the gentle padding of their bare feet and the hushed laughs they exchange between kisses.

Keith reverently cleans up the mess he left. Shiro’s body is deserving of so much worship, so much more after he’s shown Keith something he’s never known before tonight.

He loves him so much.

Keith tells him in as many words. Shiro whispers it back to him, against his wet hair, strong arms around him.

It’s some ungodly hour when they go back to sleep. They feel it in the morning when someone wakes them up at the usual time, but there’s more energy rolling through the ship’s hallways. Keith and Shiro make their way, bleary-eyed, to the kitchen, where victory pancakes are being served.

They have a visual on Greenland.


	11. Chapter 11

The first observation Keith makes of this country is the chill in the air.

Stepping out onto the top deck, the cool breeze picks up his hair and ruffles his suddenly insufficient clothes. Gulls soar overhead, cawing in tandem with the steady rush of waves on the rocky, cliff-like shore. The air is wet and cold, moisture clinging around the group like invisible snow. Keith cranks up his internal body temperature, and all is fine after that, but Pidge _nopes_ back into the ship and emerges with more layers covering her small body.

“It’s beautiful,” Shiro says, putting into words what Keith thought about the country at first sight.

“Where do we start?” Lance asks, eyes fixed on the horizon, scanning for Number Six beyond the boulders and thick forest.

“I saved the location of the gas station where we saw the CCTV,” Matt says, tapping at his tablet. Does he have signal out here? “It’s our only lead. With any luck, she lives near there.”

“Should we go out as a group?” Hunk asks, maybe hoping that he can volunteer himself to stay behind and watch the boat.

“That’s the safest bet.” Shiro nods. “Our first and only priority is to find her.”

Lance smirks. “Maybe she’ll find us.”

“There’s only one way to make sure of that,” Keith says, and he heads off down the ramp to take his first steps on solid land in a week.

They made port a few miles away from the actual shipyard in the sparsely populated town. They can’t risk attention from the locals, and a handful of teens and barely older adults captaining a decades-old steam vessel isn’t something the people around here are likely to forget.

One of their own has already been captured on camera and monitored by the government. They don’t need to risk that again.

Matt leads the way with his nose buried in the screen instead of taking in the—admittedly—breathtaking scenery. The path they walk between the cliffs of the shore and the dense treeline feels like another, much older world. Keith can’t help but feel that if he stares into the woods, the woods would stare back at him, and that kind of eerie, exciting magic settles in him the deeper they walk.

Signs point them to town. Eventually, the dirt and gravel road gives way to a paved street. It’s starting to look like people actually live here, but that doesn’t chase away the physical and metaphorical chill in the air and in their bones.

“We should be coming up on it right…” Matt finally picks his head up from the tablet and points. All eyes follow his finger to a lonely, empty gas station in the middle of a long stretch of road. “There.”

The muscles in Keith’s shoulders tense up. The scene is familiar enough to conjure his memory of the security footage, of the fog creeping in and the shadow of a massive Galra attacking an Altean.

“Do we...go in and talk to the clerk?” Pidge asks when no one moves to get closer.

“No,” Keith bites quickly. “We don’t know who we can trust around here.”

Lance crosses his arms. “Well, do _you_ know where she’s at, then?”

“The trail ends here,” Matt agrees with Lance. “There’s really no telling where she could be now.”

“We’ll find a way,” Shiro asserts calmly. “We’ll find somewhere to regroup and reevaluate.”

“Maybe there are more clues we missed in the video,” Veronica suggests.

“Car’s coming!” Romelle yelps, pointing a finger down the road where two pale headlights come into view.

Pidge, in the middle of the group, flings both sweater-paw arms out to her sides. “Everyone hold hands.”

Shiro and Hunk’s hands both find Keith’s. His eyes circle to team, confirming that they’re all linked seconds before everyone disappears from sight. He hears Shiro take in a little gasp to his left, but when he goes to look, Shiro isn’t there. No one is, but Keith still feels their presence around him. The two hands holding his own are still warm and tight as ever. He can feel Hunk sweating.

He’s a little beside himself with pride that Pidge can turn their whole group invisible.

The car comes to a rolling stop in the street in front of them. The driver side window rolls down, revealing a plain-looking man with a scruffy beard. He leans out the window, and all sets of lungs in the circle stop breathing.

Kosmo is left out in the open, having not touched anyone when Pidge turned them all invisible. Keith hates that he forgot about his own dog, but there’s nothing they can do about it now. The man is watching Kosmo in confusion, wondering if he maybe belongs to someone he knows.

Kosmo raises his hackles and growls deep at the stranger. It’s enough for the man to widen his eyes in surprise and roll his window right back up.

When his car bumper is out of sight and out of mind, Pidge releases with a hard intake of breath and falls to her knees. Krolia crouches down and rubs her shoulder.

“That was very good quick thinking, Pidge,” she praises quietly.

Pidge groans a bit, but she croaks to Matt that she’ll be fine.

Keith kneels next to Kosmo and scratches around his neck. “I’m sorry I forgot about you, buddy.”

Kosmo licks his chin, and all is forgiven.

He looks at his dog’s face—his Altean dog’s face—and tilts his head to the side. Patting Kosmo’s back, Keith says, “You wouldn’t know how to track down Six, would you?”

Keith doesn’t pander to hope, but Kosmo turns in the direction of the deep woods and lopes off at an easy pace. Keith stands and watches him go, eyebrows knitting together. When it’s clear that Kosmo isn’t just going off to find something to pee on, that he’s actually trying to lead the group somewhere, Keith jogs to catch up with him.

“Keith,” Shiro calls after him. “Guys, we’re ready to move again.”

Behind Keith, the team trails two at a time. Keith is just a few paces behind Kosmo, who has his nose in the ground and a very wiggly tail.

It gets darker the further they walk. Keith attributes it to the fact that the sun had already started going down when they docked, but the increasing loneliness and quiet don’t help ease the trickling sensation going down his spine.

However long they’ve been following Kosmo, it’s hard to tell. Keith feels like time shouldn’t exist in a place like this. Maybe it doesn’t here, and they’ll just keep walking in circles until the end of eternity. Direction gets disoriented. It _feels_ like they’ve been going in a straight line, but Keith wouldn’t be surprised if up turns to down and he wakes up on the ship, still at sea.

This fog isn’t helping.

Keith shakes his head to make it focus. He keeps his eyes trained on Kosmo’s fluffy tail. As the fog closes in around them, becoming more opaque the longer they walk, Kosmo becomes the only thing Keith can see. Tree trunks and crunchy grass bleed together. Keith keeps close tabs on the sounds of his friends behind them. They’re still all together, and they’ll get out of these woods the same way.

The fog is pure white. Where it seemed like it was getting darker before, the brightness of the silky mist almost lightens the space around them like a halo. It’s so… pretty. Swirling around them and making them float.

“Is anyone else feeling, like, really good?”

Hunk’s voice from behind grounds Keith a little. He was almost afraid that if he turned around, his friends wouldn’t be there anymore, and he’d be like some demented Orpheus wandering a foreign land with nothing to show for it.

“Did you eat some weird berries or something, man?” Lance barks at him.

“I feel what he’s talking about,” Shiro says. “I feel, I don’t know, lighter. Like there’s no pressure around us.”

“I feel it, too,” Keith chimes in.

“We are all going to die,” Romelle says.

“How’s Kosmo up there, Keith?” Krolia asks.

“Still truckin’.” Whatever has Kosmo’s legs pumping, he’s really excited to find it. “He smells something for sure.”

“We must be getting close,” Krolia observes.

Keith’s almost giddy to think about it. Something about this sensation running through him—through all of them, apparently—has him relaxed, released of all anxiety. He follows his dog on light feet.

Until Kosmo stops and stares into the fog, tail wagging casually.

Keith grinds to a halt behind him and quints to see what he sees. There’s nothing, though.

Like a derailed train, the group comes to a stop. Shiro first, from bumping right into Keith, and the rest following suit.

“What is is?” Shiro asks, right in Keith’s ear.

“He sees something.”

They stand still as the fog curls around them, breathing in the tendrils. The air tastes sweet.

A man-shaped shadow forms in the distance. Shiro’s heavy hand grips Keith’s shoulder in warning.

“Wait,” Keith whispers.

Kosmo trots over to the shadow and sniffs around it. As the stranger strides closer to them, he becomes clearer and clearer. A dark cloak covers his form and half of his face, but Keith can make out a bright orange mustache on his top lip.

He clears his throat. “Uh, hey, we’re—”

The figure dramatically whips his hood off and takes a fighting stance. His finger pokes through the cloak, poorly positioned to look like a concealed gun.

“Who goes there!?” the mustache man cries in a horrendous British-Australian hybrid accent. “Drop your weapons! Or the pooch gets it!”

He trains the finger-gun on Kosmo, who sits like a good boy and flops his tongue out of his mouth.

“Uh…” Keith gets out.

Yeah, the fog has definitely gotten to his head.

“We’re looking for Number Six,” Shiro tries in a valiant voice, through his confusion leaks through much like Keith’s had. “Do you know her?”

“I might! Who wants to know?” The man raises a bushy orange eyebrow.

“Uh,” Shiro echoes.

“Coran, please.” At the unexpected sound of a woman’s voice, everyone in the group jumps.

Another figure makes its way through the fog and into view. She’s also wearing a heavy cloak, but when she reaches the man—Coran—to smack his pathetic ‘gun’ away with her hand, she pulls the hood down. Her hair is as white as snow, as pure as the fog around them. She’s beautiful.

She turns to them and offers an apologetic smile. When she speaks, it’s like the fog carries the sound from her throat and buffers it softly into Keith’s ears. “Please don’t mind him. He’s overly cautious about strangers.”

“As he should be,” Lance drawls, elbowing his way to the front of the group. He struts up to the woman with an easy smile. Keith would stop him, but this is going to be too good to miss. Lance bows deep and takes the woman’s hand, planting a kiss on it. “You must be Six. I’m Three, and that makes you twice the woman I’ll ever be.”

Keith hears rather that sees Veronica face-palm.

Six’s jaw hangs down like she can’t believe Lance actually just said that— _yes_ , Keith wants to tell her, _he really just did_ —but then her smile returns, and she laughs gently at the gesture.

“I’ve been dreaming about the day I get to meet you,” Six says, “and I’m thrilled that it’s finally happened.”

Lance sputters. “I’ve also been dreaming about meeting you, Six, ever since we saw you on that gas station cam. Of course, I always had a feeling we were connected, maybe even since we were born. It’s written in the numbers. Six and Three, destined to be together.”

“Please, call me Allura.”

Somewhere behind Keith, Krolia gasps.

“Princess Allura,” she says in awed recognition.

Keith whips around to look at his mother. Krolia dips down in a bow, cluing Keith into the fact that she’s serious.

“Princess?” Shiro repeats.

“A princess!” Lance says, falling to both knees in front of Allura.

Allura grasps at the front of her shirt, where her numbered pendant hangs. “Why don’t you all come inside? We have much to catch up on.”

…

“I was honored when my father told me I was born special, with a number and a responsibility, just like all of you.” Allura warms her hands around a fresh mug of tea. The dining room in her little cabin hardly fits herself and Coran, let alone the entire group. They gather round on spare chairs or just the floor, each and every one of them hanging onto her words like children during story time. “He told me it was my duty to protect the continuation of our people, and as a princess, I thought nothing would be more fitting of a job for me.”

“But you were just a child when we found out we were picked, like the rest of us,” Shiro gently points out. Allura smiles.

“Princess Allura has always been mature for her age,” Coran says fondly. “Even as a little baby, she would care more about others than herself.”

“I can't believe our princess joined us on a pilgrimage to Earth,” Krolia muses, memories flashing in front of her eyes. “A royal’s job is to rule, not protect.”

“I never saw a difference between the two,” Allura says.

“I’m sure your father was either very happy… or very scared when he found out,” Krolia says.

“He knew the risk.” Allura’s smile turns a little sad. “To be saved from the first attack, only to be hunted down until we could grow and stop the war ourselves… He wouldn’t let himself be angry about it. I remember him telling me he had faith that we would prosper in our new home.”

“I’m glad you’re with us today, Princess,” Lance murmurs.

A hush falls over the cramped room. There’s a wooden cuckoo clock hanging on the wall ticking the seconds away.

All this talk about Altea makes Keith nostalgic for something he hardly even remembers. He faintly recalls Krolia talking about the royal family. By then, Krolia already knew about Keith’s number. Two, so very close to One, next to first to die when they are found. They didn’t have much time between the announcement and the launch. One day, Keith’s life was as normal as any child’s. The next, he was hurtling toward an unknown planet, swaddled in his mother’s arms, fleeing a threat that was just two paces behind them ever since. He thinks about his friends and how similar the situation must have been—Pidge and Lance huddled up to their older siblings, Shiro and Hunk with Adam and Romelle. Keith wonders if Shiro and Hunk knew their protectors before they all had to leave. He also wonders what Coran is to Allura. They seem close, like family.

Strange how all that Altean history is starting to feel like fiction, because his life on Earth is what he has known for so long. When did hiding here turn into living here?

“So what’s your gift?” Pidge asks, eyes sparkling. Her voice breaks the tension in the room. While Keith wouldn’t have worded it so impatiently, he has to admit he’s been eagerly guessing what kind of gift a princess has been bestowed.

Everyone collectively leans closer to Allura, awaiting her response.

“You saw it already, out there.” Allura lifts a finger to point out the tiny circular window in the kitchen. All heads whip around to look, but all that’s through the glass is the thick, swirling fog. “Part of it, anyway.”

“Allura’s Altean mist has a plethora of uses.” Coran leans back in his chair like a proud dad. “It blinds her enemies and causes hallucinations. If you really get her going, she can poison one or two people at a time.”

“Holy shit,” Keith mutters.

Allura quickly cuts in. “But for friends, it has healing properties. With the mist, I can see anything it touches. I knew your location long before Coran found you.”

“That explains why we were all feeling so funny out there,” Shiro says. “It can tell the difference between enemies and allies?”

Coran nods. “Very observant, young man.”

“Wait!” Pidge slams her hands down on her thighs. “Does that mean you’re using your gift right now?” She points out the window, indicating to the fog still buoyant between the trees.

“I am,” Allura confirms. “I try to use it as constantly as possible for fear of the Galra finding us here.”

“Isn’t that exhausting?” Hunk asks.

“It gets a little draining sometimes.” Allura nods. “But over the years, I’ve cultivated the energy to be almost as easy as breathing.”

“She even keeps it up in her sleep!” Coran supplements excitedly.

A few murmurs of amazement go around the group. Keith whistles. He thinks about himself sleeping underwater, using his newfound water gift to stay completely submerged and hidden and safe for as long as he needs. He doesn’t know if that’s something they can all learn to do, or if the princess is just that powerful.

Whichever is true, training that ability as a unit can turn the tide in the war.

They’re finally— _finally_ —all together. The Galra will be the ones on the run soon.

Shiro clears his throat. “Princess. When was the last time you had an encounter with the Galra?”

“We haven’t had any run-ins since what happened at the gas station. You saw, Lance mentioned. I’m so glad it worked.”

“Worked?” Pidge asks.

“I needed a way to reach out to you,” Allura says. “By allowing myself to be caught on camera, I knew a record of my location would be out there somewhere. I didn’t know who would find me, or if anyone ever would. I didn’t know you were all together, if the Galra had gotten to you and started killing in order.” She looks at Shiro. “But deep down, I knew you were all safe somehow. I could feel it.”

“We would know if one of us died,” Keith says. He swallows the lump that forms in his throat when he’s reminded of who’s first on that list.

“But you made it,” Allura says with some sort of finality, leaning back in her chair. “And we are stronger now because of it.”

“I’m amazed that you thought to put yourself on CCTV for us to find you,” Pidge says, smiling.

Matt nods in assent. “Beautiful, powerful, _and_ smart.”

“Back off, Holts!” Lance grumbles, pointing a warning finger at the siblings.

A round of chuckles goes through the group. Allura, setting her mug down on the table, looks fondly at Lance. Keith doesn’t get it.

“Did you have too much trouble getting here?” she asks.

“Trouble is just part of the journey that brought me here to meet you, Princess,” Lance drawls in a voice too low for him.

“We had quite an encounter with some Galra while on the water,” Shiro answers more truthfully.

“Oh, I hope it wasn’t too bad.” Allura frowns.

“Actually,” Shiro glances at Keith and smiles gently. Whatever that look is supposed to mean, it warms Keith up. “They never even got out of their ship. They attacked in the middle of a storm, which was a wise move on their part. But then, we determined that the Galra were _causing_ the storm. Whatever tech or weapons they use to make that happen, we know they’re advancing more and more every day. They even sicked a robot on us back in New York.”

“But they haven’t shown their faces?” Allura asks, hanging on her seat.

Shiro shakes his head. “The last two times we were attacked as a group, it seemed like they wanted their experiments to do all the work.”

“How very puzzling,” Allura drones under her breath. But then she stands from her chair and adopts a more pleasant expression. “I appreciate all you’ve had to go through to be here today. You’re all welcome to stay; there’s plenty of room. While you’re with me, the Galra won’t be able to find us. Please, rest. You’ve all earned it.”

“Thank you, Princess,” Shiro speaks on behalf of all of them. “And tomorrow?”

Allura smiles. “Tomorrow we will begin preparations for a counter attack.”


	12. Chapter 12

Sleep won’t come tonight. Of that, Keith is certain. Some others are ready to turn in as soon as they find a place to lie down, occupying what remains of Allura’s spare beds, couches, and sleeping bags. Everyone is definitely exhausted from the stress of the day, but Keith’s mind is running too fast for him to slow down and close his eyes.

Finding Allura—actually meeting her and seeing her—solidifies something in the dream of winning. It’s less of a dream and more of a plan now. They don’t really have a plan, for now, but the next few days will bring what Keith hopes is assurance that this is almost all over.

Keith even entertains the idea of what he’ll do _after_ they win. That’s how close it feels.

He’s never thought about the possibility before. What does one alien do on a planet that is not his own after the threat on his entire life suddenly ends? They don’t have their own planet to go back to. He might be stuck on Earth. Does he actually _want_ to stay on Earth? The idea doesn’t repulse him; he just doesn’t know what he’d do with his life. Go back to the Garrison? Graduate and shoot himself into space and explore what his colleagues won’t know used to be his backyard?

Shiro probably wants that.

Even under the ruse of being a human who just loves space and engines, Shiro always found real joy in what lies beyond the atmosphere. Shiro will definitely do what he can to get himself between the stars when they have the freedom to choose.

In that, Keith finds his answer. Whatever Shiro wants to do, Keith will follow him.

It all comes to him while out on a walk with Kosmo. The fog helps clear his head, makes him wake up a little bit. Now that he knows more about the mist that surrounds him, the woods don’t feel so lonely or ominous anymore.

Invigorated, Keith returns to Allura’s cottage and weaves himself between sleeping bodies to find Shiro.

He finds him sitting on the floor in a small living room, resting with his back pressed up against a couch that Lance is currently snoring on. A random book sits between his hands, Shiro leafing through it.

“Hey,” Keith whispers as he kneels down next to Shiro, leaving a kiss on his temple.

“Hey,” Shiro responds, turning his head into the kiss to meet Keith’s eyes. Keith locks their lips together as soon as Shiro’s mouth comes into reach. He inhales deeply though his nose, senses enhanced tenfold in this magical and surreal twilight. Shiro hums quietly. “Hello, there,” he whispers when Keith breaks the kiss.

“Not sleeping?” Keith asks.

Shiro shakes his head. “Too much on the brain.”

Keith takes the book from Shiro’s hands, shuts it with a muted thud, and places it on the end table next to the couch. “Me too.” His fingers curl around the fabric of Shiro’s collar and give it a light tug. “I found something on my walk I think you’d like,” he purrs above Shiro’s bottom lip. “Take your mind off things.”

“Yeah?” Shiro leans into him, eyelids lowering as he reads Keith’s mood and melts right into it. “What is it?”

“Come see.” Keith laces their fingers together and pulls Shiro to his feet. They exit the house in silence, leaving their sleeping friends like ghosts in the mist.

Keith leads him by the hand as he weaves between the trees. They come upon a rocky cove with a pool of glittering water in the middle. Source unseen, Keith determines it must be a spring from underground. With the streams of moonlight filtering through the branches overhead, fracturing like glass in the fog, it’s a serene setting.

Romantic, too.

Shiro squeezes his hand, smiles. “Isn’t it a little cold for a midnight swim?”

“Not when one has the power of fire and water at his fingertips.” Keith steps in front of Shiro and holds his waist with both hands. Standing up on his toes, he presses a slow, sweet kiss to Shiro’s mouth. “Let me go first and make it nice and warm for you.”

Shiro hums and kisses him back. “Chivalry isn’t dead.”

Keith gives him more smiling kisses, but his hands leave Shiro’s waist to undo the front of his own jeans. He wiggles out of them, thrilled by the chill on his exposed skin. Shoes kicked off, Keith stands there in just his hoodie, which barely covers anything below his hips.

Shiro’s fingers dance along the tops of his thighs and nudge under the hoodie. He parts from Keith with a too-loud sucking sound to pull the last piece of clothing over his head.

Keith runs his hand through his mussed hair to fix it as best as he can. As tantalizing as the feeling of Shiro’s hand skirting down his back is, Keith steps out of reach and turns to walk toward the pond. He throws a glance over his shoulder to make sure Shiro is watching the sway of his hips.

When he pauses at the water’s edge, Shiro’s eyes drag up and down his body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, and Keith preens.

He has to hold in a gasp when he sinks in up to his waist because the water really is fucking freezing, but it’s a quick fix for him as he instinctually raises his body temperature, then the temperature of the pool around him.

Eyes closed, Keith imagines his body is like that of the magma core of a planet. That if this was a real hot spring, the lava from below the surface would bubble and heat the water from the bottom up. When he exhales, steam escapes his nose, which isn’t something Keith knew he could do, but he rolls with it. He learns new things about his body every day.

As the water gets warmer, Shiro tears his eyes from Keith to bend down and pick up his clothes. He folds them neatly on an elevated rock, far away from the danger of getting splashed.

“Chivalry isn’t dead,” Keith echoes, watching Shiro with hooded eyes.

Cheeks turning pink, Shiro doesn’t answer but instead starts stripping off his own clothes. As the layers come off, he adds them to the folded pile of Keith’s clothes.

Keith thanks the heavens that this planet’s moon is so big and pretty. The silver glow comes down and blankets Shiro’s broad shoulders like a robe of light. He’s absolutely gorgeous, and Keith doesn’t know how he got so lucky. Is it just him, or is the water feeling _really_ warm now?

Shiro stops just short of dipping his toes in the water, eyes bright and shining as he looks at Keith.

“You’re smoking,” he says.

“I could say the same about you,” Keith responds.

Shiro grins, and a little laugh escapes him, though not for the reason Keith expects. “No, I mean—there’s steam coming off your skin.”

Keith picks one arm up out of the water and observes that, yes, the moisture evaporates from his skin almost immediately.

Shiro slides into the water, exhaling in bliss, and wades up close to Keith.

“Is that like blushing for you?” Shiro asks in giddy curiosity.

The realization only makes Keith feel warmer. The evidence must be written on his face, because Shiro chuckles and lifts his hands to cup his cheeks.

“I’m still new to the whole fire and water thing,” he says as some sort of defense.

“I think it’s adorable.” Shiro kisses the tip of his nose. “As long as you don’t boil me alive in here.”

Keith reaches up to circle his hands around Shiro’s wrists. “Then don’t make me feel so hot.”

“Can’t promise I won’t,” Shiro says just before sealing their lips together.

He kisses Keith slowly, like the push and pull of water. Keith, in turn, curls his toes into the moss at the bottom of the pond. He feels so alive, out in the woods, bared for anyone to see. But there’s only Shiro, who slips his tongue out and slowly maps Keith’s body with his hands. All of his nerve endings spark to life wherever Shiro touches, like the first kick of fire before it blossoms and consumes him.

Keith bumps their hips together, skin tingling at the tease of Shiro’s soft cock brushing against his own. His hands slip to Shiro’s sides, fingers settling in the valleys between his ribs. Shiro hums.

He’s floating—no, gliding—following where Shiro’s hands pull him through the water. He opens his eyes to see Shiro resting back against a smooth boulder that sticks half out of the water. He holds Keith against him, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones.

“Gorgeous,” Shiro tells him, and Keith’s pulse spikes and sends ripples through the pond.

Water from Shiro’s fingers drips down his jaw and the back of his neck. They leave a cooling trail in their wake, and Keith, oversensitive, almost shivers. He gives a little whine and grinds forward.

Shiro’s hands slips down his back and disappear under the surface of the water. Keith can still feel them, though, big and warm and cupping his ass firmly. Shiro pulls him closer, parting his lips to pant gently. Keith’s hips stutter some more. The water around their bodies makes quiet swishing sounds as their movements grow less subtle and more intentional.

The fingers on Shiro’s right hand dip just a little lower, two of them covering Keith’s entrance.

“Nn,” comes the sound from Keith’s throat. All the warmth in his body drops to pool up in his lower stomach. He fights the instinct to jut his hips backward into Shiro’s hand.

Shiro rubs him there, nice and solid and slow. Keith touches his forehead under Shiro’s jaw where his neck meets his shoulder, just breathing. His feet part on their own, and Shiro takes the cue to press just a little harder.

One finger slips into him easily. Keith can feel the water around Shiro’s digit, pushing in and pulling out rhythmically. His hands curl into fists that sit against Shiro’s chest. Keith leans all his weight into him, spine arching to feel more of his fingers.

“Mm, Shirooo…” Keith mumbles, drunk on lust as he steadily rocks back and forth.

“More?” Shiro coos gently against his ear.

Words failing him, Keith nods into his shoulder. His breath gets caught in his throat at the feeling of a second finger slowly wedging him open. He adjusts to it, warming from the inside out. Shiro’s other hand runs up and down his arm.

“I can feel every time you get hotter in there,” he says.

“Can’t help it,” Keith gets out, and he rubs himself against Shiro. Their cocks are both hard now, caught between their bellies. Keith rides against him, slowly, lazily, more focused on the fingers behind him than the erection in front of him. Shiro gives a little twitch of his hips, making Keith gasp.

The fingers work in and out of him, sliding with less resistance on each pass. Shiro’s fingers are thick and strong, so different from what Keith is used to with his own hand. He likes it better this way, unable to predict how Shiro will move next and getting swept away by the excitement Shiro gives him every moment.

Keith pants against Shiro’s neck. His hot breath condenses in the air and collects like dew on Shiro’s smooth skin. His breathing picks up when Shiro finds just the right spot.

His hips jerk forward. “There…!”

Shiro doubles down on the same angle, his hand moving quick and languid. “Getting close?”

Keith nods weakly. He rubs his cheek into Shiro’s collarbone, eyes screwed shut as he thinks about disappearing into this beautiful body that’s holding him so close. Shiro, only Shiro, forever, around him and inside him where it’s as warm as the water around them.

He’s a goner even before Shiro’s free hand splashes down between their bodies and takes Keith’s dick. He pushes himself into Shiro’s big fist and mewls quietly as he spills into the pond.

He releases a soft sound of protest when the fingers slowly drag out of him for the last time. Shiro holds Keith’s chin and tilts his head up for a kiss. Keith kisses him back in a haze, tongue lolling into Shiro’s mouth.

Shiro tolerates it for a second before he breaks the sloppy kiss in favor of pressing his mouth to Keith’s chin, then his closed eyelid, then his cheek. “Was that good?”

“It was very good,” Keith says when his voice finds him again. His arms come up around Shiro’s middle. “Thank you.”

Shiro snorts. “You don’t have to say thank you.”

“It’s polite,” Keith counters with a pout. “I say thank you when people give me gifts.”

Shiro laughs some more, and Keith can’t help but to drop the pout and break out into a grin. “You’re such a dork.”

“Don’t be mean to me. I’ll freeze this whole pond with you still in it.” Keith bumps their hips together when he knows he isn’t feeling too sensitive. Shiro’s still hard between them, and he draws his breath in through his nose when Keith slips his thigh upward.

“That would make you the mean one.” Shiro wears an easy smile, looking down at Keith with aroused and adoring brown eyes. Keith leans up on his toes to peck his mouth.

“Want me to do something about this?” His fingertips skate up the underside of Shiro’s erection. “Wanna suck you off.”

Shiro, powerless to the persuasion of Keith’s mouth and hands, hisses softly and nods. “Let me find somewhere to sit,” he starts to say, hand coming to Keith’s shoulder so he can step around him.

But Keith uses his Altean strength to wrap his hands around Shiro’s biceps and keep him pinned to the rock. Shiro’s eyes go a little wide—in surprise or lust, the answer could be both. He stays pinned, chest rising and falling.

“You don’t have to go anywhere,” Keith says.

Shiro looks at him, white bangs a bit of a mess between his eyebrows. “But it’s—I’m underwater, Keith.”

“Did you forget who you’re talking to?” Keith raises a brow, a smirk teasing the edge of his mouth.

The gears turn slowly in Shiro’s head, but they eventually click with understanding, A refusal forms on his lips. “ _Keith_ , that’s too risky. Have you even practiced that before?”

“Kinda.” Keith half shrugs. If you count the time he could breathe underwater on the day he discovered he had a gift with water, then yeah, he’s totally practiced before.

“I can’t let you do that,” Shiro says, sounding unsure of himself.

Keith reaches into the water and grabs his hand tightly. “Have a little faith in me. I wanna try.” For good measure, he bats his eyelashes.

Shiro stares at him for a long moment. The moon on his cheeks and the white of his hair is silver and sparkling. He sighs. “Hold onto my hand the whole time. If you let go, I’m pulling you out.”

“It’s a deal,” Keith says, elated, and plants a kiss on Shiro’s lips. He doesn’t linger, though, and instead drops down to pepper Shiro’s jaw and neck with affection.

He keeps going still, sinking into the water the lower he gets. He mouths down Shiro’s abs, the hand that isn’t occupied sliding down his waist and the outside of his leg. With his last kiss on Shiro’s hipbone, Keith flicks his eyes up to find Shiro watching him with concern but unmistakable arousal. After flashing him a quick smile and wink, Keith sumburges himself completely.

At first, his eyes are closed, but he tests his abilities by slowly opening them.

Where he expected to find a blurry, watery, dark image of his surroundings, Keith is delighted to discover that he can see pretty clearly in the depths. The moonlight from above shatters in fractals under the water like shards of crystal. The underside of the pond is mossy and fish-free. It’s kind of magnificent down here.

What he has to test next are his lungs. Calming himself mentally, Keith triggers the tiniest movement of his diaphragm. The inside of his nostrils feel cool where the water gets sucked in, but there’s no burn, there’s no sense of drowning. Keith takes a bigger breath in, and it feels no different than when he’s above water. Thrilled with himself, Keith takes in a big, wet breath. He learns that he can’t smell anything, however.

Oh, well. He can’t have it all.

He turns his attention to the body in front of him. Shiro’s lower half is pale in the blueish light of the water. Keith looks at where their fingers are laced securely together, and he gives Shiro’s hand a reassuring squeeze. Shiro squeezes back. Keith’s free hand trickles up Shiro’s ankle and rests just above his knee.

Even with all this going on, Shiro’s still hard, ready and waiting and so close to Keith’s face.

He wraps his fingers around the base and leans forward. When he parts his lips, the taste of the water floods his senses. The head of Shiro’s cock comes to rest on his tongue, and he sucks loosely on it. When he slides his lips down the shaft, he reminds himself to breathe in the cooling sensation of the water as he works.

Shiro’s other hand buries itself in Keith’s floating hair. He bobs his head as best as he can with the water resisting every movement, and he makes up for it by tightening his lips and taking Shiro as deep as he’ll go.

Keith comes to the disappointing realization that he won’t be able to hear the sounds Shiro is making while he’s submerged. The jerky tugging of his hair is the only indication that Shiro loves what he’s doing with his tongue.

He closes his eyes and focuses on the dip of his neck, the subtle changes in Shiro’s grip when he particularly enjoys something. That’s how they communicate, Keith suckling on Shiro and rubbing his thigh and Shiro massassing his scalp with his fingers.

However long it takes—Keith thinks that maybe time doesn’t exist underwater—maybe some minutes, Shiro gives a warning tug on Keith’s hair before he loses control and pushes Keith’s head closer to his hips. The entirety of his length disappears down Keith’s throat, but Keith can’t really complain when Shiro’s shooting and pulsing a pent-up load into him. Keith hums around him and swallows everything, including a few gulps of pond water. He pulls off slowly, sucking all the way to the tip before finally releasing him.

When he emerges from the water, he finds Shiro slumped against the rock, flushed down to his chest and panting lightly.

Keith takes his first breaths of dry air and smiles wide, euphoric.

“Good?” he asks, drawing himself closer and raising Shiro’s hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles.

Shiro nods, eyelids a little droopy. He makes grabby hands at Keith until they’re chest to chest. His hand comes up to push Keith’s soaked bangs out of his face, then kisses him tiredly.

“That was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before,” Shiro murmurs against his mouth. “How is it you’re already so good with your second gift when it should take a while to learn how to control it?”

“I think it’s because it’s my second gift.” Keith rests against him. “Getting my first unlocked some kind of experience in me that makes it so easy for me to understand water much faster than it took with fire.”

“Spoken like a seasoned warrior,” Shiro says, all pride and love.

“It’s ‘cause you were so good at teaching me the first time around that I already knew what to do,” Keith tells him.

“I can’t take all the credit. You’re amazing all on your own.” Shiro’s arms come around his shoulders, and they relax like that until Keith realizes he hasn’t been regulating the water temperature, and it’s getting a little cold.

When they exit the pond dripping wet, Keith doesn’t let a moment pass before he’s pulling the water off their bodies and returning it to the source. Dry, it doesn’t feel as cold. They redress and sneak back into the cottage, wary of sleeping bodies strewn about the floor and Kosmo’s curious eyes watching them all the while.

…

In the blink of an eye, a month passes.

Sometimes, it’s easy to pretend this is how their lives can be for the rest of time. Allura keeps them safe. There are no battles to be had. No one bothers them all the way out here in the middle of this beautiful nowhere. Keith, especially, has everything he’s ever needed tucked between the four walls of Allura and Coran’s cottage.

They spend the cooling days training together. They learn—to everyone’s surprise and glee, including Allura herself—that Allura’s gift extends beyond what she thought capable. The fog, as they knew, can blind and disorient and poison enemies, and it can heal and shield Alteans. But over the course of a few intense days of working out and skirmishing, they come to the realization that Allura’s gift can also enhance everyone else’s.

Keith feels so alive. He breathes in the milky fog, his new heroin, and it pumps through his veins and muscles like a shot of the narcotic. Keith’s fire brightens, his water fortifies, and his ability to control both becomes as natural to him as breathing.

He almost forgets about the war. Is there even a war to be fought when their powers are so invigorated, so charged? Any chance the Galra think they have against them dwindles laughably as the days go by. It wouldn’t be much of a fight if the Galran emperor himself showed up and entertained even the fraction of the thought they he could win.

What more could Keith want than to be here, surrounded by the people he loves, the people who share the same Altean blood?

There’s no real need to think about war. Not on days like this, when they’re all spending time outside together, training, laughing, being together like Keith thinks it might have been like on Altea if things were different.

He’s learned how to turn himself into a space heater. With the help of Allura’s fog, Keith can radiate the heat from his own fiery core and spread it out over the grass like a greenhouse. The mist captures the warmth he produces and reflects it over the expanse of the cottage and a mile or two of outdoor space. It makes training easy. They all wear comfortable shorts and tee shirts for full maneuverability. Over in a big open clearing, Veronica spars with Romelle. Lance and Pidge are somewhere, combining their gifts to invisibly zap themselves from pace to place and giggling about it like child ghosts. Keith watches fondly from the sidelines—taking a break—as Shiro levitates a handful of soil from the rich ground. He’s learning a thing or two about his powers as well.

Kosmo runs from his spot next to Keith over to Shiro. Forming his hand into a fist, Shiro compresses the ball of dirt, and after a little exertion and concentration, the soil forges itself into a perfectly spherical orb of pure iron right before his eyes.

Kosmo barks for the dark, matte ball. Shiro smiles, lets it fell to the ground with a thud. When Kosmo goes to try and pick it up, he struggles with the weight of it. He whines in defeat, and Shiro brings the ball back up to chest level.

“That is the most impressive thing I’ve ever seen,” Matt calls.

Shiro’s head perks up in the direction of the voice. The ‘o’ shape of his lips informs Keith that he wasn’t aware of his audience until now.

“I never thought I’d be able to extend my power beyond what I’ve already learned.” He walks over to where Keith, Matt, and Coran are sitting, the ball floating a few inches above his palm. Coran reaches up to run his fingers down its rough surface. “Metal was effective enough for me, but now earth? I’m still wrapping my head around it.”

“It makes sense if you think about it.” Coran cups his hands under the ball. Shiro releases its full weight into his waiting palms, and the amount of muscle Coran has to use just to keep his arms up is obvious. What a dense little sucker Shiro just made like it was nothing. “Metal is purified earth, melted down to its elemental sediments.”

“Melted, huh?” Shiro’s eyes flit over to Keith’s. “Then maybe you could have a hand in making metal with me.”

“I’m already a seasoned ship engineer,” Keith says with an easy smile. “What’s adding ‘blacksmith’ to that list?”

Coran passes the ball to Matt, who rolls it between his hands. “It’s fascinating how you manage it without a fire,” he says. “I think it has something to do with the gift working its magic—for lack of a better phrase—within the earth when you interact with it. The force you apply to the elements creates fusion within the core, which generates a heat that’s strong enough to melt the sediments and instantly turn them solid. It’s a similar process that happens inside stars. That’s what makes them burn so hot and shine so bright.” Matt catches himself sliding toward the ‘too much’ end of the nerd spectrum and scratches the back of his neck. “Er, so I would guess.”

Shiro smiles. “That’s really cool how you know that. Interested in space?”

“I’m _from_ space. Of course I’m interested,” Matt jokes.

Shiro chuckles along with him. He floats the metal ball back to himself. The shape of it shifts under his fingers, stretching and sharpening into the image of an all-metal dagger. He grips the hilt of it in his right hand. “You could think about returning to the Garrison with us. If we win the war, of course.”

“You mean _when_ we win the war,” Coran corrects proudly.

Keith’s eyebrows furrow at the mention of the thing that he hasn’t thought about in what feels like forever. Guilt creeps up on him.

Because, of course, what other reason would they be out here, getting faster, getting stronger, learning how to work as a team, if there wasn’t an endgame enemy that they’re preparing to face in the probably very near future?

“‘Us’, Shiro?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Shiro says, clearing his throat. Shifting his feet like he was caught off guard by the question. “Being you and me. Sorry, I just assumed that we’d both be returning to the Garrison.”

Keith offers him a smile. “It was safe to assume. I just didn’t know that was the official plan.”

“Sorry,” Shiro says again. Then he finds a smile to give back to him, albeit a rather self-conscious one. “It was my plan. I probably should have talked about it with you first.”

“We should talk about it.” Keith nods. The added-on ‘ _My official plan was to follow you to the edges of the universe_ ’ will wait until they’re alone together.

The look Coran and Matt give each other is not unseen.

Keith can’t bring himself to care about being sappy with Shiro in front of everyone.

Lance and Pidge make their first actual appearance for the first time in the better part of a day. They pop in a few feet away from the group.

“Nice of you to join us!” Veronica antagonates, mostly at Lance.

While she’s distracted, Romelle lands an easy blow and knocks her to the ground. The little blonde dynamo packs a bigger punch than she lets on.

“Ha!” Lance laughs, pointing and clutching his stomach. “Serves you right! And for the record, we’ve been here all along. Lurking in the shadows, silently watching!”

“I wouldn’t call the cackling from the trees ‘silent watching’,” Keith points out.

“Pidge,” Allura interrupts, already immune to the group’s bickering. “How did it feel to hold the invisibility for the last few hours?”

“It felt great!” Pidge chirps. “I’m not drained or tired at all. I feel like I could go all day! This mist of yours is the best caffeine I’ve ever had.”

“Excellent news.” Allura claps her hands together in delight.

“Allura, my princess,” Lance starts, stepping up and holding her fingers earnestly in his hands. “I just remembered I need to ask you a very important question. Only you can answer it for me.”

“I will do my best.”

“Allura… do penguins live here?”

Keith rolls his eyes.

“What are penguins?”

The forest goes into a stunned silence for an extended moment. Then Lance smiles smoothly and brings Allura’s hand to his mouth.

“You don’t know what penguins are? That’s adorable.”

“Haven’t you learned about them in school?” Pidge asks.

“Allura never went to school!” Coran says. “Too dangerous. What if a Galra disguised himself as one of her classmates and tried to do away with her with me not around to protect her?”

Hunk laughs. “I’m trying to imagine a seven-foot-tall Galra trying to blend in with a bunch of kindergarteners.”

“Oh, my,” Romelle giggles. “He’d stick out like a big purple elephant, wouldn’t he?”

Allura looks around the group with a small pout on her lips. “Have all of you been to school?”

Each of the gifted in their ranks nods in turn.

“At one point or another,” Shiro says, “I think we all tried it, if just to blend in more than anything else.”

“Well,” Allura says, righting herself, “I suppose it’s a good thing you all grew up with Earth customs. It must come in handy.”

“We’ve hidden from humans for our entire lives here,” Coran elaborates. “We don’t interact with them unless absolutely necessary. It helps us stay invisible.”

“Would you ever try to acclimate into Earth society when the war is over?” Krolia asks.

That’s the big question, isn’t it? What to do with their lives when all is said and done.

Allura sounds like Lance when she says, “I never wanted to make a life here.”

“Do you think there’s a home for us somewhere out there?” Shiro asks with just a little bit of hope breaking through his tone.

“I would like to think there is. Somewhere.” A tiny smile forms on her face.

No one says it out loud, but Keith can feel everyone thinking about it.

Their princess wants to return to space. A fantasy flashes before Keith’s eyes. Allura finding them a new planet to call home, somewhere they don’t have to hide who they are, somewhere to lay a new foundation and build their culture back from the bottom up. Keith—and he’s sure everyone else feels the same—would gladly follow his princess wherever she wanted to lead them.

Shiro, next to him, takes his hand and squeezes gently.

“I think we’re all ignoring the most important question here,” Lance says. All eyes on him, he breaks into a grin. “Are there penguins or not?”

“Now I’m curious, too,” Pidge says. “I’ll go get my phone and get to the bottom of this.”

Lance’s arm shoots out to stop her from walking into the house. “Ahp, ahp, ahp,” he twitters. “Allow me.”

With an exaggerated hand gesture, the phone pops in from thin air and falls into his palm.

“Very good,” Allura praises.

Lance breathes over Pidge’s neck as she googles the standard ecosystem and zoology of this massive island.

“This says there’s a species referred to as the Great Auk that’s native to this area,” Pidge informs. She shows a picture attached to the article—a small black bird with white markings and flipper-like wings.

“Aha!” Lance exclaims in triumph, prematurely, of course.

“They aren’t related to penguins, technically,” Pidge reads on.

“Ha,” Keith taunts, arms crossed.

“But they are very similar in terms of physical characteristics, diet, and climate preferences,” Pidge says.

“Ahhaa!” comes Lance’s laugh again. Why he feels so accomplished from this, Keith will never know or care to find out.

Pidge lowers her phone with a frown. “They’re extinct.”

“Looks like I win,” Keith says, hoping and praying that Lance will pick a new person from the group to harass with his weird showboating.

Allura steps closer and wraps her hands around Lance’s elbow. “Will you teach me more about these penguins, Lance?”

Lance adopts a cool expression, and when he speaks, he looks right at Keith’s face and winks. What he says is, “Of course, Princess. I’ll tell you all about them over coffee,” but what he really means is, “ _I win_.”

Keith rolls his eyes and brushes past them as they make their way toward the cottage. Keith wants to throw himself into the ring with Veronica, and maybe she’ll be able to do him a favor and punch him unconscious for a few hours.

Overhead, tree branches rustle in the wind. It’s a strong enough breeze to make Keith feel cold, even with his internal furnace running at full capacity.

In hindsight, that should have been his first clue.

He’s about to raise his fists, facing Veronica, who pants gently from her first rounds of wrestling with Romelle. But the wind picks up some more, and the edge of the fog that protects them all is blown away like the residual smoke of a snuffed-out candle.

The radius of white mist dwindles significantly as the wind grows stronger. Others in the group crowd together to escape exposure. Soon, the cottage is out in the open. The surrounding trees become more visible with the disappearance of the fog.

“A-Allura,” Hunk calls. “Your gift can fight the wind, right?”

“I don’t understand.” Allura’s voice comes small, strained. Lance stands next to her with his hands on her shoulders in support. “It’s not working.”

Keith feels Shiro’s presence next to him. When they meet eyes, they seem to communicate the same thought.

After so long of hiding in Allura’s protection, living with ease behind her shield, it feels like one step outside of the fog will earn them a blast to the chest.

Are they ready to face the Galra again? It seems like they only just got here.

The last of the fog is chased away, the tail-end tendrils curling around Allura’s ams for dear life. But those, too, dissipate and leave them in the clearest air Keith has seen in a month.

Shiro steps in front of Keith, facing the deep of the forest. Keith peers over Shiro’s tall shoulder to see what he sees, but as it turns out, the source of the supernatural wind is even taller, still.

High above the treeline, a loud engine hums and draws closer. The craft casts a shadow over the group, over their little home. The turbines kick up tunnels of air and expel any hope of Allura’s mist making a comeback.

Keith’s stomach hits the ground when he recognizes the pulsing purple lights from the attack over the ocean, much closer and much larger than they had been last time.


	13. Chapter 13

Everyone’s too stunned to move. Keith is ashamed to admit that he’s also locked in place, joints frozen, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

The whirring of the wind and the engine quiets fractionally as the craft switches from the brakes to hover mode. The forest becomes still enough to hear the squeal of a hatch opening. Light pours out from the opening, right between the glowing purple orbs, and a much smaller craft exits the massive ship. It floats gently to the ground. When the pod’s doors open, Keith takes in a sharp breath through his nose and clicks on his lighter.

Both hands ignite, and he runs in front of Shiro to be the first in the group to face the Galra. They’re a distance away, but it’s still easy to make out their looming figures as they emerge from the vessel.

The sound of a blade unsheathing comes from next to him. Keith turns his head to see Krolia has joined him on the front lines. Shiro steps up on the other side.

Maybe they don’t want a fight, not now, not here.

But they have no other choice.

Krolia gives him a reassuring nod, and Keith raises his fists.

“Like we practiced,” he murmurs to the group, though he’s sure the Galra can hear him.

There are four of them swaggering forward slowly, dressed in sleek purple and gray armor from head to toe. Their heavy bootsteps crunch over fallen leaves and twigs.

“Allura…” Hunk whispers harshly. “Now would be a great time for poison fog.”

“Right,” Allura whispers back, startled, like she’d forgotten what she was capable of.

She takes her place in front of everyone else, even Keith. After a calming breath, she opens her arms slightly to summon the white mist that leaks from her slowly, like blood relaxing over water.

The Galra in the middle stops in his tracks when he sees the princess use her gift. Good. Let him be afraid of what she can do to him.

But the Galra shocks everyone when he raises his hands in defense and speaks in clear, accented English.

“Wait!” he calls. He all but falls to the ground on one knee, but the movement is enough to shock Allura into stopping. The fog halts just a few feet out from her body. “Princess.”

Keith looks at Allura with wide eyes, and her expression mirrors his. If the Galra know a detail as intimate as Allura’s lineage, there’s no telling what other sensitive information they have to use against the rest of the Alteans.

Allura summons her courage and speaks in a loud voice. “You’ll leave this planet if you know what’s good for you!”

“I come not as your enemy,” the Galra says calmly. He lifts his hands toward his head, and the fire around Keith’s fists flares. One funny move, and they’ll be roasting Galra marshmallows. But all he does it remove his helmet, white hair spilling down well past his shoulders. His bright yellow eyes pierce into Allura. “But as one of you.”

The Galra is… not what Keith expected to look like. For one, he’s actually kinda super hot, if he’s allowed to think such a thing. His angular jaw and nose, regal demeanor, and smooth skin are so far removed from the furry cat-like creatures Keith remembers from previous encounters.

The little gasp from Allura tells Keith he’s not the only one thinking it.

“Who are you?” Allura demands, arms rigid, ready for a fight. “What do you want?”

The Galra rises slowly, tucks his helmet under his arm. The other three stand a few steps back from him. “I am Prince Lotor, son of the Emperor who hunts you. I’m here to tell you how to put an end to this farce.”

Allura’s stance doesn’t slacken, but her voice does. “You want to end the war?”

“Indeed, we fight toward the same end,” Prince Lotor says.

Keith doesn’t buy it, not even a single vowel. “You’re the one who attacked us in the middle of the ocean!” he shouts. Flames lick up around his neck. “I recognize that ship! You caused the storm that almost killed Shiro!”

Lotor’s eyes dart to Keith. His gaze drags up and down his arms, all consumed by fire, with an unreadable expression.

“I didn’t kill him.” He nods to where Shiro stands next to Keith. It’s unnerving that he knows Shiro’s name—probably knows all of their names. “I left you alone once I saw that you can handle yourselves.”

Hunk speaks up to side with Keith, forgoing his usual tactic to avoid conflict as much as possible. “I can’t trust it. You’re probably the one who sent that horrendous robot monster after us in New York!”

“That monster was one of my father’s ungodly creations,” Lotor says with an annoyed edge to his voice. “But as I said, you are more than capable of surviving.”

Lance pops up to the front and takes a hold of one of Allura’s hands. “Princess, we aren’t going to listen to this guy, right? Turn on the fog, and we’ll take all four of ‘em down lickity split.”

The idea of killing the Galran emperor’s son makes Keith’s fingertips tingle more than the fire does. Lotor’s death would be a critical blow. Even if Allura doesn’t want to use her gift to poison the intruders, he’d gladly take them hand to hand and maybe even burn this whole forest to the ground in his rage.

He makes eye contact with Shiro, communicating his plan to attack with an intense gaze. It’s eleven against four. They can do this.

But Shiro meets his eyes with an equally heated look and subtly shakes his head from side to side. Keith thinks he’s reading it wrong. Shiro can’t be refusing to fight, can he?

Allura straightens her shoulders and tilts her chin up. She looks head-on at the prince and speaks in a tone befitting of a leader.

“How do we know we can trust you?”

Keith is inclined to trust Allura’s judgement—he really is—and not ten minutes ago he was just thinking how he’d follow the princess wherever she wanted to take them in the universe. But the question she asks the Galran prince is not what Keith expects to hear. He’s not expecting a question at all—just action. She’s making it sound like her mind can be changed, that all their loyalties and life-long opinions can be challenged. It’s the hesitation she demonstrates that makes Keith’s mouth twitch and his fire burn whiter.

But he trusts Allura—and suddenly Shiro’s shake of his head makes sense. He’s reading how Allura is reacting to the situation. It’s enough for Keith to stay his flames. No matter how badly he wants a fight, maybe there won’t be one today.

“If I wanted to attack,” Lotor says in a smooth, sure voice, “I would not be standing here on the ground before you.”

Allura considers the words, then she turns to her team.

With a soft glance down at where Lance holds her hand, she laces their fingers together and addresses each one of them with a steady tone. Shiro nods at her, then Romelle, Coran, and Matt, Pidge, Krolia, and Hunk. Lance squeezes her hand, though with a frown on his face. Finally, Keith assents. Not because he supports the decision, but because he supports Allura and the Alteans standing together.

The princess faces Lotor with all the regality and diplomacy and power that comes so easily to her. Keith stands back with Shiro, giving her the front of the line where she belongs.

White mist leaks from her. It billows out over the forest, embracing the Alteans and the Galrans and their ship up above and all the trees surrounding them. The fog is like a caress of comfort and encouragement Allura gives to each of them. That familiar feeling of peace and power returns to Keith’s chest. Even if it’s a terrible idea, even if Lotor is a silver-tongued fox, Keith takes contentment in knowing they are safe in their numbers. In more ways than one.

“You will talk,” Allura says with conviction. “And we will listen. And if you try one false move, you will be dead before you can lay a finger on us.”

Lotor nods in compliance. He draws his hand out in front of him, watching the white air curl between his spaced fingers. He takes in a breath, exhales in satisfaction. His expression is calm, serious.

“The properties of your gift are not lost on me,” he acknowledges, “which is why it feels so invigorating to be surrounded by it. This security, this power you bestow on your fellow Alteans is truly remarkable. I am all too aware of the strength that courses through your bodies because of it, because it courses through mine as well.”

Allura remains still and quiet. Keith is trying to piece together the meaning of Lotor’s words.

The puzzle solves itself when Lotor says, “I carry Altean blood in my veins. I am the same as all of you, and that is why I wish to end this war before our gifted Numbers are murdered at the hands of my father’s army.”

A small gasp comes from Allura, and Keith thinks that pretty much sums up the mood of the whole group. Her free hand comes up in surprise in front of her parted lips.

“But you’re purple!” Lance calls out, which Keith thinks—also—speaks for everyone’s mind.

“My father is Galra,” Lotor provides with little patience in his voice. “My mother was Altean.”

“Was?” Allura asks.

“She died doing research on the Galran home planet of Daibazaal.”

Keith bites the inside of his cheek. “If your father married an Altean woman, had a child with her and everything, then why the hell did he go into a rage and incinerate our home?” he challenges. “He’s the one who started this war. He’s the one who’s hunting us! How could he justify that, if you are who you say you are, and chase the same race of people his son shares heritage with?”

Lotor meets Keith’s eyes with ease. He doesn’t rise to the challenge. He doesn’t trip and fall into the holes of his own story like Keith thought he would. “That is where it gets complicated. The research my mother was doing, you see, was to study and experiment on the natural world. Daibazaal was dying because of the rapidly advancing technology the Galrans were creating. They learned how to make cognitive weapons of mass destruction, not unlike the robot you encountered on the pier in New York. But to make such powerful devices required resources far greater than what the planet could provide. My mother saw the effects these weapons’ creation had on the environment of Daibazaal, and she sought to correct it.”

“I don’t see how this explains the emperor’s crazed attack on an innocent race!” Lance interrupts.

Lotor raises an eyebrow at him. “If you’d allow me to finish. My mother’s research was… unique. Even for an Altean. She was gifted, like all of you. Her gift allowed her to connect with nature and to understand it, to communicate with it. She wanted to use her gift to heal Daibazaal and create things for the Galrans without having to suck the life out of the planet they all lived on.”

“Your mother was one of us?” Shiro asks, amazement hardly kept in check.

“She was from a generation of powerful Alteans before the group of you standing here in front of me. That generation, including my mother, died long before any of you were born,” Lotor explains.

“She died before the start of the war?” Krolia asks.

“The war started _because_ she died,” Lotor goes on. “She became too wrapped up in her research. She used her gift beyond her physical capabilities and worked herself sick in an increasingly desperate search for answers. I remember her last few months when I was just a child. She always told me how close she was to unlocking the secret to a world where we can create without having to destroy. But she wore herself down to the last beat of her heart, and my father went into such a frenzy that he blamed the Altean race for giving her a gift that was eventually her demise.”

“That’s… tragic,” Allura says. Her sympathy is written all over her face. Keith remains on guard for the rest of them.

The aura of the fog changes. Allura is reaching out to Lotor, expressing her grief with unspoken words and tangible emotion. They can all feel it, and for a peaceful second, it’s like there are no sides.

“I never knew there were gifted Alteans before us,” Shiro says.

Coran puts a hand to his chin. “The gifted are revealed in times of dire stress for Alteans. You were all chosen the moment the emperor decided to attack the planet. I’m afraid Lotor’s mother was chosen for the very purpose of healing the home planet of her husband, but she sadly was never able to see her goal come to fruition.”

“Indeed, that seems to be the case,” Lotor says.

Keith doesn’t want to hope yet.

“You haven’t answered one very crucial question.” All eyes train on him. “How exactly do you plan on ending this war?”

He catches the, “Valid question,” muttered under Hunk’s breath.

Lotor looks like he was waiting for that one. A smile splits on his face, and he raises one hand palm-up in a gesture of modesty.

“With my own gift, of course.”

Allura takes in a sharp breath through her nose, fist clenched.

“That’s not funny.”

“I am not joking.” Lotor looks all too pleased with himself. What his motive is for any of this—trying to side with them, reciting his family history, claiming he has a gift—is as unclear as the foggy air around them. “I would demonstrate, but I’m afraid the hound will pounce on me if I make a move.”

He nods in the general direction of Keith and Kosmo, and it remains to be said which one he’s referring to.

“Why don’t you give us some more explanations first?” Allura suggests. “Starting with who your cronies are, and what this gift of yours entails.”

Lotor gestures to the three figures standing a distance behind him. He introduces them by name, each removing their helmet to reveal half-Galra likenesses underneath. “These warriors are Zethrid, Ezor, and Acxa. They’re loyal to me and wish to see an end to the war however bloodless as possible.”

“They sure don’t _look_ like they want a bloodless war,” Pidge mutters.

“The tiny one is cute,” says the one in the middle—Ezor.

“I’ll show you tiny!” Pidge shakes a fist at the pink Galra.

“Why did you bring an entourage if you have peaceful intentions?” Allura asks. Good. We’re getting to the good questions.

“As you might understand, we are not with the Galra, though we do use their technology like the ship you’re all familiar with. We are essentially refugees from the Galra, who are everywhere. And we cannot blend in with humans as easily as you can,” Lotor says.

“We stick out,” Zethrid says from her standing perch of at least ten feet high, giant fuzzy ears perking up as if to emphasize her point.

“So they travel with me,” Lotor continues. “Safety in numbers, I trust you already know.”

“You could leave,” Keith says. “Take your ship and fly thousands of galaxies away. The Galra are after _us_ , not you, right? They won’t look for you, and you’ll be safe somewhere far from here.”

“I do not run from things,” Lotor bites. “I have a personal stake in this war, and I will end it. With or without your help.” He breathes haughtily, collects himself, and turns back to the princess. “As for my gift, I inherited it from my mother. I have a connection to the environment.”

“Like Keith?” Lance asks, pointing at Keith who would really like to not be pointed at right now. “He can control fire and water.”

Lotor frowns. “No… It’s different. I communicate with the essence of natural materials.”

“Boring!” Pidge drones with a hidden smirk on her lips. Keith swears he sees Lotor’s white eyebrow twitch.

“Prince Lotor,” Allura says, and Keith hates how much friendliness she puts into his title. “You may demonstrate what you mean.” Then she adds, “Slowly.”

“Please observe,” Lotor says with a little smile.

He flicks his hand up in a gentle gesture, and everyone watches in anxiety and amazement as a row a freshly pink flowers sprout instantly from the ground. They grow in a solid line, an unmistakable path from Lotor and stopping at Allura’s feet.

“Ooh…” Romelle coos.

Lance snickers.

“Of course, that isn’t the extent of it.” Lotor moves his hand again, this time carving a hole through the fog. At first, it seems like nothing has happened, but then a breeze ruffles Keith’s bangs and cutting a visible path in the mist.

“So he can garden and kick up a little wind.” Lance waves his hand dismissively. “Big whoop.”

Shiro speaks, slowly, putting pieces together as they exit his mouth. “That’s how you were able to conjure that storm in the middle of the ocean. You used your gift to create a hurricane.”

“That was only half my doing, but yes.” Lotor lowers his hands, standing submissively still once again. “I am not so powerful as to make something so dangerous, but with the help of a special weapon, I am able to magnify my gifts and my connection to the elements.” He points toward where his giant ship is hidden above the trees, mingling with the fog. “I was able to recreate my mother’s research and build something that can give us power without having to harm a planet to gain it. My ship itself is the magnifier, and with it, I plan to take the Galran empire down.”

“With one ship?” Keith asks.

“All I need is to supply the Galra with what they need,” Lotor asserts. “A way to sustain the civilization without having to jump from planet to planet and stealing elemental essence.”

“They won’t leave us alone until we’re dead. That’s one thing we know for certain,” Shiro says, calculating.

Lotor sets his shoulders, his mouth forming a bitter line, but not for the Alteans who stand in front of him. “They are not the ones with a self-proclaimed vengeance to fulfil. The only one who actually wants this war is my father.”

“Are you willing to… remove your own father for the sake of Altean safety?” Allura asks, no sugar, just the sour taste of vinegar in her words.

“I am.”

If he’s telling the truth, the end could be sooner than any of them prayed.

“Let me get this straight.” Lance lets go of Allura’s hand to pop up in front of Lotor, close enough to jab him in the chest with his finger. With Lance standing right there, it’s easier to tell Lotor’s stature is nothing to sneeze at. The kid’s got balls. “Your plan is to get us to help you kill your dad, hand over this ship to the Galra so they can nurse their dead planet back to life, and go on as if it was that easy the whole time?”

It’s kind of funny the way Lotor physically and spiritually looks down at Lance. “It’s the most practical way for things to go back to the way they used to be.”

“That can never happen,” Krolia says, darkness in her voice. “Altea is gone. Your father made sure of that. Nothing can ever be the same.”

“You are right, and for that, I apologize. I feel your pain because part of my heritage was destroyed on that fateful day.” Lotor’s tone goes soft, almost believable. “There is no replacing it, but with the end of this war, at least you’ll have the chance to live your lives outside of the shadows.”

He puts into words what all of them want most in the universe. Keith is loathe to admit that kind of empathy is damn near impossible to fake. Maye Lotor is telling the truth. About everything.

“So if he has a gift,” Hunk says, breaking the silence, “does that make him… a Number?”

“He could be,” Coran confirms. “He might be Number Seven, though I have heard of ancient Alteans revealing a Number Zero during the most trying times.”

“Do you have one of these?” Shiro pulls out his necklace, the one bearing his Altean number.

“I do not,” Lotor says. “I’m afraid if one was ever forged for me, it has been lost along with Altea.”

“Then we won’t know if there was ever actually supposed to be a seventh of us,” Pidge says.

“We could plunge a knife in his chest and see if he survives,” Keith grumbles through gritted teeth. Either Lotor would be the last do die, or the first.

“Keith,” Shiro chides.

Keith gives an unapologetic roll of his eyes.

“I haven’t made a decision yet,” Allura starts, looking at Lotor, “but I am willing to hear more. I want to learn about your ship.”

Lotor eases into a soft smile again and crosses his path of pink flowers to approach the princess. Cautiously, of course.

He bows slightly. “I’ll give you the grand tour.”

When he extends a hand for her to take, Lance zaps himself in place, his arm going around Allura’s shoulders and holding her away from Lotor. “We’d _all_ like a tour, actually.”

“Very well.” Lotor straightens out and adopts a cooler expression.

Ezor giggles. “The skinny one is cute, too.”

Allura laughs gently at Lance’s flushing face. Whether it’s from embarrassment or anger, that remains to be said.

So they all head off in the direction of the enemy ship that’s probably the size of Rhode Island. Ezor skips off ahead of the pack. Zethrid and Acxa follow behind her. Lotor leads Lance and Allura, everyone else in tow.

Shiro massages his hands into Keith’s shoulders as they walk, all the way in the back of the group.

“I can’t help but think we’re heading into the belly of the beast,” Keith says to only Shiro.

“I know,” Shiro answers, warm next to him. “But sometimes it’s okay to hope.”

“What happens when Lotor takes our hope and crushes it between his half-Galra hands? This is all too good to be true. Too easy.”

“We’ve been through a lot,” Shiro says. “It already hasn’t been easy. I think we could actually be nearing the end.”

Keith’s gut twists in a whole jungle juice of emotions. Shiro is too trusting when he should be the one who has the most to worry about. If Lotor’s intentions are evil, then Shiro would be his number one target.

“Just promise me you’ll keep your distance from him until we know for sure he’s on our side.”

…

The inside of the ship is dark, cavernous, modern, and everything Keith expects from a Galra vessel. It almost reminds him of their own ship, but sky-bound instead of sea-bound. And with a lot more purple.

The deep colored lights illuminate hallways and touchscreens sprawling with words in a foreign language. What’s even the point of having _lights_ if they hardly make it easier to see?

There are also weapons of every kind. Lotor comments on a few, telling stories of where he got them or what they’re for. Lance, at one point, narrowed his eyes at the prince and asked him what the hell he needed weapons for if he was a peaceful dude. Lotor elegantly explained that he liked to be prepared.

As the tour goes on, Pidge and Matt slowly break out of their shells. With each new piece of Galra tech Lotor shows them, the siblings practically pounce on the items and ask Lotor a flurry of questions about their makeup and abilities and other techy stuff that Keith doesn’t follow.

Overall, it’s an unattractive ship to live in. But maybe he can’t judge when he lived in a shack in the desert, and then a mostly hollow cargo ship that was two seconds away from falling apart if Shiro hadn’t kept it together. From what Keith remembers of Altea, the aesthetic of the culture was much brighter and more open. Everything in his memories is surrounded by a champagne blue mirage, with grass and big windows. If all Galra live in metal caves with nothing but one dark color to look at for their whole lives, well, Keith understands why they go on murderous rampages sometimes.

How the fuck did a Galra fall in love with an Altean, and vice versa? Lotor’s existence perplexes Keith.

“There is a library on board as well, Princess,” Lotor says as they make their way into a big chamber that looks like a mobile version of a throne room. Where the big chair would be sits what Keith assumes to be the main controls. “Nothing spectacular, you’ll expect, because we are a bit tight on space. I thought you’d like to see it.” He extends his hand in the direction of a door not far off from the controls.

“Perhaps another time,” Allura quips. “I’d actually like to see more of the weapons.”

Lotor clears his throat, obviously not having expected that answer. “Of course.”

“Yeah, buddy,” says Lance, who still hasn’t let go of Allura. “You have a lot to learn about our fearless leader here.”

Lotor eyes Lance before looking back to Allura, measuring his words. “Perhaps you’d enjoy seeing one of the antique ceremonial cannons. They’re as decorative as they are loud, and they carry such a history that is truly fascinating.”

As he talks, he leads the group to yet another room. Romelle blatantly points out how impractical it is to carry antiques around on a war vessel, and Lance punctuates her statement with a snort.

Keith has had about as much as he can take, so he grabs Shiro’s hand to stop him from following. Instead, he leads Shiro into what is supposedly the library.

“You mean you don’t want to see an ancient decorative ceremonial Galra cannon?” Shiro asks with a dimpled grin as he ducks through the door.

Keith gives him a look of absolute boredom, then spins around to get a good look at the library. Lotor was right. Nothing spectacular. “It didn’t take us long at all to find out this powerful Galran-Altean gifted prince is just a giant nerd.” He brushes past a stack of shelves, fingertips dancing over book spines as he goes.

Shiro chuckles. “He seems very excited to have us here. They way he talks about Alteans is almost… reverent.”

“It’s creepy.” Keith leans against the wall and crosses his arms, looking at Shiro.

“Still don’t trust him? Even now?”

When Shiro comes close, Keith has to tilt his head back to see all of him. “I think maybe he’s on our side,” Keith admits. “But I’ll be sleeping with one eye open until further notice.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen now.” Shiro pulls a book from the shelf and thumbs through it. “Going back to Allura’s house doesn’t seem like an option. If Lotor is with us, are we just going to follow him to the emperor?”

“The sooner we find him, the better.” Keith swipes the book from Shiro’s hands and spins it around to scan his eyes over the foreign lettering. “I’d rather not sit around and dream about ending the war if this guy has offered himself up on a silver platter like some kind of messiah.”

The words on the page greet Keith unexpectedly. He recognizes a symbol, the number for two, because it’s written on his pendant. So this is what the whole Altean alphabet looks like. Geometric lines clustered into various characters. They don’t feel so foreign anymore. Keith can almost pick up on the meaning of the symbols even if he can’t explicitly read them. More evidence he doesn’t belong on this planet he calls home now.

“Can you read this?” Keith holds up a random page to Shiro’s face.

Shiro’s dark eyebrows furrow together as he drags his gaze over the lines. “Not really. But I know it’s Altean.”

“It’s probably poetry,” Keith huffs, replacing the book, “knowing Lotor as spectacularly as we do.”

The corners of Shiro’s lips and eyes turn up in a smile. He drags his knuckles down Keith’s cheek, then down his jaw. Keith tears his eyes away from the distant point in space he’d been glaring off to, looking up at Shiro. “Have a burning desire to learn Altean now?”

“Maybe Krolia can teach me. I don’t know why she never did.” He leans into the warm fingers. His hands come up to tangle in the fabric of Shiro’s shirt, pulling him in more until he blankets Keith against the wall with his body. Keith props his head up on Shiro’s shoulder. “I feel like I used to know it.”

“Me too,” Shiro murmurs, as lost in nostalgia as Keith is.

All Keith does for a long minute is breathe in the scent of him. “I really want this to be over.”

“Me too,” Shiro says again.

“I have no idea what’s waiting for us after it’s done, though.”

Shiro doesn’t say anything to that, just presses his mouth to the top of Keith’s ear, nose in his hair.

“But you do, don’t you?” Keith asks.

“I like to think about it,” Shiro confirms.

“I still wanna know all about this plan of yours. Return to the Garrison, star boy?” With a smile on the edge of his mouth, Keith drags his hands up and down Shiro’s back.

He feels a rush of warm air over his skin when Shiro laughs lightly. “I’ve always dreamed, even before I met you, that I could get myself out into space, where we came from, and far away from all our problems. The logical side of me knew that they’d just follow me out there, with faster ships, too. Being Number One and all, they really want to get to me as soon as possible.”

“We’ll change that,” Keith promises. “We won’t run any more, and when it’s all done, the only number one you’ll be is number one in my universe.”

“That was corny, even for you.” Shiro’s voice rumbles close to Keith’s ear, in his skull.

“That was corny _in spite of me_ ,” Keith corrects. “And I’m serious. We’re going to get you that dream if it’s the last thing I do.”

“We?” Keith hears the smile.

He plants a kiss to the hinge of Shiro’s jaw. “If you want space, then space is what you’re gonna get.”

“What about your own dream?”

Keith angles his head back until it hits the wall. But it’s necessary to give Shiro the unmistakable look of ‘ _you should already know what that is_.’ His thumbs brush over Shiro’s hip bones as he looks back and forth between his deep eyes. Right in front of him, he sees everything he’s ever wanted. Shiro is his past, his present, and his future. And that’s the only way Keith wants it.

On his toes, he locks their lips together in a sweet kiss. He breaks it just long enough to murmur, “You are my dream,” and, “I’ll follow you across the universe.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Shiro sighs against him.

Hands go to Keith’s hips. They hold him steady there as Shiro ducks down for more kisses. Keith’s own arms go around Shiro’s shoulders, and when Shiro surges forward and lifts Keith off his feet, pinning him to the wall, Keith uses his hold to drag Shiro closer against him. His legs find a comfy spot around Shiro’s waist to clamp down on, and it’s not long before Shiro’s kiss turns to licks and gentle bites. Keith wants Shiro to flood his senses, make him forget the fact they’re on the Galran prince’s warship hovering above the forest where Allura left the fog behind.

He gets what he wants for a blissful minute, fingernails scratching at short hair and teeth coming down around his chin, until a loud boom goes off from deep inside the ship, followed by some very excited shouts from Pidge that sound suspiciously like, “Fuck yeah!”

Shiro, in his surprise from the blast, drops Keith back down to his feet. Keith doesn’t know what caused the apparent explosion, but he wants to growl. They were having a lovely moment.

Shiro wears an apologetic smile. “We should go make sure Lotor didn’t kill all of our friends.” He smooths down some of Keith’s hand-mussed hair.

“I’m almost worried it’s the other way around,” Keith says, but he heads off in the direction of the boom with Shiro tailing close behind.

They find the tour group in some sort of artillery room with a high ceiling and impressive array of target ranges. Pidge and Hunk stand in the middle of the shooting range, both covered in soot of some kind from head to toe. Pidge’s glasses are comically smudged and tilted askew, useless on her face.

Residual dust rises off of Hunk’s body like smoke. Lance is holding a savage-looking gun that’s almost too big for his scrawny frame. Lotor isn’t even near the group, standing off to the side and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Do I want to know?” Keith asks.

“I sure as hell wish I didn’t know,” Hunk whimpers.

“Lotor made a gun out of _lava rock_!” Lance spins around to demonstrate the contraption in his hands. Upon closer inspection, it does have a rough-ish texture to it that resembles dark, gritty stone. “It can shoot dirt bombs!”

“Is this,” Shiro starts, unsure of himself or anything he’s seeing, “the research your mother was doing?”

Lotor holds his head as high as it can go in a situation like this. “I may have expanded on her plans a bit with this one.”

“I gotta admit,” Lance says. “this stuff makes your gift almost kind of cool.”

“I’m flattered,” Lotor deadpans.

“Guess we’re all friends now,” Keith mutters. “That was faster than I expected.”

“You wanna try her out?” Lance asks, raising his eyebrow in temptation and holding the gun out to Keith.

“You want me to shoot a lava dirt gun at Hunk just because he’s bulletproof and it would be funny to see him get pelted from head to toe?”

“Duh!”

“Keith, please don’t. I thought we were buddies,” Hunk begs.

Keith wouldn’t, because he’s a nice friend, and the decision gets made for him anyway when the door to the room slides open. Everyone turns to see Acxa approach Lotor, a bright, beeping device in the palm of her hand.

“The tracker we put on the main hub has been activated, sir,” she says in a curt tone.

“Oh?” Lotor asks, interest piqued. “So my father and his crew have fired up their engines. Where are they headed this time?”

Acxa hands him the device without a word. Everyone surrounding them takes involuntary steps forward. The hair at the back of Keith’s neck stands on end at the thought of monitoring in real-time the whereabouts of the Galran emperor. Keith hopes he’s close. He wants to face him _now_.

Lotor examines the screen with an aloof, contemplative expression. “Interesting. I wonder what this could mean.”

“What is it?” Shiro asks.

“The emperor is usually informed enough to know your general location at any given time. Especially you, Number One. He seems to be very good at tracking you.”

Shiro nods, tight-lipped.

“But it appears he’s started a course in the opposite direction. It is indeed a peculiar move for him” Lotor hands off the tracking device to Shiro. “Tell me, does this mean anything to you?”

Shiro squints at the screen, making sense of a map displaying some kind of trajectory for the emperor’s fleet.

Then he pales. “This can’t be good.”


	14. Chapter 14

The beeping is loud in the quiet, dead room. Shiro throws a hologram of the map up in the center of the circle their group has created. Keith’s eyes drag over the red dotted line, leading from a random point in Canada down to the Southwestern United States. When he finds where the line stops, Keith’s stomach drops.

“The Galaxy Garrison,” Krolia says in disbelief.

“So this location is significant to you?” Lotor asks.

“Keith and I went to school there,” Shiro confirms. “It’s a high-security government facility that specializes in preparing students for space exploration.”

“He can’t think we’re still there, can he?” Keith asks. “Why would he go there if we’re long gone?” His mind goes to the few friends—acquaintances, really—he left behind when he ran away with Krolia and Shiro. He may not have anyone he cared deeply about back there, but at the thought of the Galran emperor showing up and terrorizing innocent people, well, Keith hates him even more for it. This was never the humans’ fight.

“Space exploration, you say?” Lotor goes on, calm, like it doesn’t matter to him. “The inhabitants of this planet are not advanced enough to know of other civilizations. Space travel isn’t easily accessible as it is in other parts of the universe.”

Meaning?” Lance cuts in.

“Meaning what my father intends to do is attack the facility and make it impossible for you to escape before he has his chance at you.”

Pidge’s voice comes in, hesitant and quiet. “He wouldn’t… hurt anyone in the process. Would he?”

The answer is implicit in the tension that hangs in the air after her question, but Lotor delivers the news anyway.

“He will do what he likes and what will get him what he wants.”

“If he knows things about us,” Shiro starts, “do you think he knows that two of us attended the school there?”

“He’s making it a personal attack,” Keith adds with a sour taste in his mouth.

“It would not surprise me.” Lotor regards Keith and Shiro warily, like he feels bad for them in particular.

“We’re going. Now. Right?” Keith’s question isn’t to Lotor. Instead, he looks to Allura with anger kept barely in check. While he still respects her authority over their team and their entire culture, he won’t—can’t—accept any decision other than action.

Allura’s mouth forms a grim line, a matching one between her eyebrows. “Since the start of this war, the Galra have not bothered humans. They have kept secret enough for humans to still remain in the dark in terms of our existence, which is how it should remain. The people of this planet have unwittingly given us a place to hide in safety for our entire lives. We never intended so, but this planet has become a home for us. I feel as though it is our  _ only _ choice to defend the humans from harm, from the threat they do not know we have brought here.”

She meets Keith’s eyes and gives him a solemn, resolute nod. A slight pressure comes off his shoulders. He’s relieved to know they’re all on the same page. No more running. It’s time to stop hiding in the shadows and take back the freedom that was stolen from them.

“Prince Lotor,” Allura addresses, head held high, shouldering what she’s taken from Keith with poise, “we are putting our trust, and our lives, in your hands. Take us to the emperor.”

Lotor responds with a hungry grin and a slight bow. “Yes, Princess.”

He turns with a flourish to exit the armory, Acxa following close at his side. Matt jogs to catch up to the front.

“So, uh,” he starts, “how long will it take a ship like this to travel thousands of miles?”

Lotor slumps down into his pilot chair in the grand control room. When he taps a button, the dashboard comes alive with screens and gages and a two-handed yoke. “According to our GPS,” he says as he enters in the coordinates to the Galaxy Garrison and plots a course, “a few hours. Our ship moves quicker than my father’s fleet, so there is a good chance we will beat him there by several minutes.”

“I pray that will be enough of a head start to get an evacuation of the campus,” Veronica says.

“I will assist you with that,” Acxa adds a bit hastily, paired with an intense gaze locked on Veronica’s face. She seems to catch on a bit too late, but everyone sees when she quickly looks away with an interesting purple tint on her blue cheeks.

Veronica grins smugly, hands on her hips.

“Oh my god,” Lance groans.

Lotor is pretending he didn’t see a thing, but the smirk on his face tells otherwise. “I hope you didn’t leave anything of value on the ground,” he says as the room vibrates with the low hum of turbines charging up, “because we’re leaving.”

The g-force robs Keith’s body of his stomach. It plops down to the ground, left behind along with Allura’s cottage and the sanctuary they’ve known for over a month.

…

The desert has taken on that quality of chill that Keith usually enjoyed during his years in the shack. That in between stage after summer and before autumn where it’s no longer unbearable to stand in the sun, but it’s still not yet cold enough for long sleeves.

The change in weather serves to remind Keith of how much time has passed, and how different every aspect of his life has become since before leaving.

Are a few weeks really all that separate him from who he used to be? A few weeks of knowing his gift, a few weeks of being with Shiro, a few weeks of connecting with the other Alteans, and they’re already a family to him. A few weeks of time passing have left him feeling aged years and years beyond his young life. He tells himself it’s a good thing. He’s come back faster and stronger, more connected to his culture than ever. Where he used to be a lone wolf, relying on no one but the protection of his mother and his own ambition, he returns as part of a unit that more or less knows how to work as a team.

Plus or minus a few Galran allies. Another thing Keith never in a million universes could have guessed would happen, yet here Lotor is, landing them safely in the sand away from the Garrison campus, not too far from where the shack used to be as if he knows Keith and Krolia had a life there.

“Did you ever think we’d be back?”

Keith looks over his shoulder to find Shiro looking at him with a soft, vulnerable expression.

“I liked to think we’d see this place again after the war,” he answers. “Not on our way to the fight of our lives.” Shiro rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Our trackers indicate we have about an hour before the emperor’s ship arrives within shooting range,” Lotor says, clicking off the controls. The hum of the engine dies, and the bodies in the ship soak in thick, liquid silence.

“That should be enough time for an evacuation,” Veronica contemplates. She clicks one of the Galran guns Acxa supplied her with into place at her hip. “As long as the humans believe we aren’t crazy.”

“We’ll send the evacuation team out first,” Lotor agrees. “The rest of us will stay behind and prepare, and we’ll be ready to provide cover if the emperor’s fleet arrives before scheduled.”

“Do you really think we are enough to take down the entirely of the emperor’s force?” Romelle asks.

Lotor offers a soft smile. Either he doesn’t see this battle as big of a threat as everyone else does, or he’s wonderful at faking confidence. “I believe that together, as the Ancient Alteans believed, we will be strong enough to prevail against evil.”

The hand on Keith’s shoulder tightens, then slips down his arm to grasp his fingers. “I’ll go with the evacuation team.”

Keith’s eyes widen at the words, and he spins around to face Shiro. The fear of getting separated from Shiro settles cold and heavy in his chest. “I thought you were staying with us for backup?”

“For the humans’ safety, we need to get them into the bunkers as quickly as possible. I’m a familiar face. The commanders might be convinced easier if I’m there to explain the situation.”

“I’ll go with you,” Keith says quickly. “Two familiar faces are more convincing than one.”

“We need you on the ground with us,” Lotor asserts. “Your gift is too valuable to be kept behind closed doors.”

“It’ll be okay, Keith,” Shiro promises.

There’s a loud hiss, and the hatch to the ship’s entrance creaks open. Golden light pours into the belly of the vessel where everyone stands, ready for departure on foot.

As much as Keith’s throat pinches at the thought of not being able to keep an eye on Shiro, he forces himself to believe it’s better this way. Shiro won’t be on the front lines, at least for when bullets start firing. Out of harm’s way.

Keith knows how important the people in the Garrison are to Shiro. Of course he would want to personally ensure their protection.

“Okay,” he reluctantly agrees.

Shiro leans down to kiss him, brief, innocent, right there in front of everyone. But Keith can ignore all that for the blissful second that Shiro’s lips are on his. When his eyes flutter open again, all he sees is his own worry—but also all of his love—reflected on Shiro’s face.

“Stay safe,” Shiro says.

“You stay safe,” Keith counters.

Shiro nods his promise and gives Keith’s hand one final squeeze before letting go. He heads down the ramp with Veronica, Acxa, and Romelle close behind.

“Acxa,” Shiro says after a pause. “Sorry, but you might, um, want to…” He gestures vaguely to her head, and when it clicks, she nods.

“Right.” Pulling on her helmet, she hides her violet skin and pointy ears and any other features that might alarm the humans more than already necessary.

The small team marches out onto the sand and blends into the mirage on the horizon. Those who remain regroup in front of the ramp. Lotor takes in a breath through his nose, and when he exhales, the wind stops whipping grains of sand into their eyes. They all have communicators on, and Keith takes comfort in listening to the steady footsteps coming from Shiro’s end.

“Zethrid and Ezor will take control of my ship and provide air support,” Lotor starts. “The ship’s guns are already tuned into my gift, so I will not need to operate them for our wind and lightning cyclones to activate. I will remain here on the ground with the rest of you.”

“When we see the emperor’s ships,” Allura adds, “I will provide as much cover as I can muster. Our priority is the emperor himself. If we can get him out of his ship and give Lotor a clean shot at him, we won’t have to take as many lives or risk our own more than need be. Lotor,” she addresses the Galran prince, “is there anything we should know about your father?”

“It has been a long time since I’ve seen him or gotten close to his weapons. There is not telling what technological advancements he has made, or what security measures he has in place to protect himself. The best advice I can offer is to be prepared for anything.

“We should think about taking out their tech as much as we can,” Matt says. “Thermal cameras, radar, stuff like that. So with the addition of Allura’s fog, they will be practically blind coming into the war zone.”

“Lance and I can manage that,” Pidge offers, trading a fist bump with Lance. “Our invisi-teleportation is kind of genius and infallible. We’ll just have to make sure they’re all covered by the fog so I can have a boost in keeping my invisibility up for as long as we need.”

“Good,” Allura says. “We’ll hit them hard, fast, and everywhere at once.”

Keith makes notes of how he can be useful. There is no water out here for him to utilize, but his fire power is stronger than ever. He’s itching to set every single ship on fire and walk through the flames to bring the emperor to his knees. The taste of victory is so present in his mouth that he grinds his teeth around grains of sand and parts his lips to drink more of it in.

A distant beeping goes off, coming from somewhere inside Lotor’s ship.

Zethrid turns to hike back inside. “Hostiles detected. Time to get this show started.”

She and Ezor disappear inside the ship, the hatch whirring closed behind them. They take off into the blue sky, casting a dark shadow over their group.

“They’re early,” Krolia says into her communicator, seconds before a projectile shoots over the heavens and comes crashing down halfway between where they’re standing and the Garrison.

It’s still for a long minute. Allura wastes no time in conjuring the mist and embracing her team in its protective shield. From what they can see, the projectile was a pod, and it’s sitting half buried in the dirt with dark smoke seeping through the seams.

Finally, it hisses, opens, and out marches a beast Keith is certain has made an appearance in his nightmares before.

“What is that?” Lance asks.

“Another robot beast!” Hunk confirms, sounding about as surprised and afraid as each of them feels.

Standing at its full height, the thing must be fifteen meters tall, all muscle and heavy armor. At first, Keith thinks its face—with its gray, leathery skin and sharp fangs—looks almost like any other Galra out there. But its lifeless eyes and static posture tell him that whatever vitality used to be in there is long gone.

“One of the emperor’s experiments,” Lotor says.

The creature wields a gauntlet topped with a glowing purple orb. The orb sizzles with electricity, and as the gauntlet winds up, the beast looks around for a target to throw at.

It settles for the Garrison building in the distance, its massive body slowly pivoting for a better shot.

Keith’s feet kick off the ground as he dashes forward. “I’m going to distract it,” he says into the communicator before he exits the safety net of the fog and stands bared in the sand for the monster to catch sight of him.

His plan works. The creature abandons its initial plan to attack the Garrison, but it turns to Keith, who is as intimidating as a lamb before a lion.

Bullets bounce off its thick armor. Keith glances to catch sight of Krolia exiting the fog and shooting at the beast. While it’s distracted, Keith runs at its feet with flaming hands and tries to melt the armor. The metal squeals and smokes from the heat, but even burning a white-hot flame puts hardly a dent in it. Keith has to duck and roll out of the way before he’s stomped into the sand.

Angered, the creature charges its weapon and blindly launches the orb into the sea of white mist.

Keith’s heart sinks, praying its aim was no good. There’s the sound of a crash and a crackle, harsh wind chasing away Allura’s fog. In place in a shimmering blue dome with Lance in the middle, arms spread wide as he holds his shield up far enough to protect everyone on the ground.

“Allura,” Keith barks into his mic, “if we get you close enough, do you think you can poison it?”

Her voices comes strained through his earpiece. It must have been a rough blast. “That will depend on if this beast is actually alive, or if it’s just a puppet. We can try.”

“I will keep it still,” Lotor announces. “Two, try to disable the gauntlet.”

Lotor breaks away from the group and buries his hand in the sand. Movement like a serpent under the surface slithers around the creature’s feet, and it sinks halfway into the desert sea. Keith watches as it struggles in confusion for a while, long enough for him to dash forward and run his boiling hands over the seam of the gauntlet. Lotor grunts in exertion as the beast starts to fight the quicksand. Its legs might be stuck, but its arms are still free to helicopter around like a person trying to swat a fly.

Keith catches a massive fist in the side of his body. He flies backward, knocked nearly unconscious. The sun glares in his eyes, blinding him from seeing the orb that’s about to be rained down on him. By the time he raises a hand to shield his eyes and detect the imminent danger, it’s too late. His eyes widen as he tries to wiggle out of the way, but the loose sand under his body makes it impossible to do anything quickly.

He hears a bark, and his world shifts. When he comes back to himself, he’s on his own two feet some distance away from the beast.

Kosmo gently nudges where Keith’s ribs are still tender, whining.

“Good catch, buddy.” Keith rubs Kosmo’s head, then returns his gaze to where Lotor is losing his battle to keep the beast still.

Allura has gotten close enough to surround the creature with her fog. Its giant shadow aimbles around. There’s a little flash of light as Lance teleports himself closer to the monster. Keith squints to see him appear again, this time sitting perched on the creature’s arm that wields the orb. As Keith jobs to rejoin the action, he watches as Lance tries to tug at the contraption, only to groan in obvious annoyance.

“Keith!” Lance whines. “You  _ welded _ this thing to its skin!”

“Oops,” Keith mutters, eyes working around the beast to try and find another angle of approach. Allura’s poison obviously isn’t working, but at least the creature is blind for now.

Static crackles in their communicators as Ezor opens another line to the team. “We have company up here,” she says.

Keith hears the cannons firing before he sees anything. Up high in the sky, Lotor’s ship is pointed toward the mountains on the horizon. Zethrid shoots at—what is at first—an unseen enemy. But a glint like an earthbound star lights up the rocks and the sand, and a massive navy purple ship comes into view.

“It’s the emperor,” Ezor clarifies, in case there was any confusion about the sheer size of the foreign vessel.

“Shiro,” Keith tries, having not heard anything for their end since the fighting began. “We’re out of time. Are the humans safe?”

The other line is dead silent. Keith can’t let himself think about it.

He refocuses. “We have to disable the robot. We can’t take two enemies at once.”

“What the hell do you think I’m trying to do over here??” Lance yells loud enough for Keith to hear even without the earpiece. As the monster swings it’s arms around, Lance holds on for dear life and shrieks like this is the worst mechanical bull ride he’s ever been on.

“The orb is its most powerful offense,” Pidge says on their comms. “Lance, try wrapping a force field around it!”

Lance offers more complaints, but he gets to work on doing what Pidge asked. Keith reaches the monster’s feet once again, and he thinks he can succeed in a second attempt to pin the robot down in one spot.

“Lotor, help me glue him to the sand!” he shouts, and he doesn’t wait for an answer as he starts spreading flames over the ground.

The sand shifts beneath him, opening wide enough for the monster to sink into it again. When it’s up to its knees, Keith gives everything he has to get the flames even hotter to melt the sand.

He’s surrounded by an orange sun. Everywhere around him is fire, in his eyes, in his lungs. The breeze of the desert kicks up the flames and helps them spread. Keith is swimming in it, the center of the fusion core of a burning star. The vision of his friends distorts into dancing shadows on the other side of the fire. It’s hot enough to melt parts of the robot’s limbs.

“Now squeeze!” Pidge urges.

Keith loses track of what’s happening above the fire. He pictures Lance covering the electric orb in his shield and shrinking it down to the size of a penny. What kind of energy—what kind of pressure—would doing something like that create?

Lance answers his question when he yells, “This thing’s gonna blow!”

Picking a direction, Keith runs as fast as he can through the forest of fire until he sees other colors besides red. He turns to see the massive beast writhing in disorientation, half its original height because of how deep Lotor and Keith managed to bury it. The orb at the gauntlet burns as bright as a pulsar, compressed to the size of a thimble. A low, almost imperceptible hum reverberates in the charged air. Lance has just enough time to flash himself away from the monster before the whole thing explodes.

The blast comes at Keith in slow motion. It’s a luminous white that gives way to orange and yellow, filling out the seams of the robot’s armor until it bursts from the inside out. Lance pops up right next to him, and a blue wall goes up seconds before shrapnel begins to shred the ground and anything nearby. Keith looks around and counts to make sure no one is left in harm’s reach.

As quick as the fire came, it stops, and Lance drops his shield with a few huffing breaths.

“Good call on squeezing the orb,” Matt congratulates, messing up Pidge’s already nest of hair.

She shrugs modestly. “That thing was holding such a massive amount of energy in an already tiny container, it was bound to blow if we applied even just a little more force to it.”

“We will need that kind of quick thinking for our new enemy,” Allura says, nodding grimly to where the emperor’s ship and the others in his fleet slowly encroach upon where they sit.

“Where’s Shiro and his metal power when we really need them?” Hunk asks solemnly.

The reminder that Shiro isn’t with them spikes Keith’s anxiety.

“One,” Lotor tries over their communicators, “whatever the situation with the humans, it won’t be long until my father opens fire.”

Still, nothing.

Keith steps forward to not let the oppressive silence not get the better of his team—or of him.

“Lotor, can your special element gun, the one on your ship, can it interact with fire?”

The prince stands straight, swiping a hand through his once-regal white hair. Desert conditions don’t match his aesthetic very well. “It can.”

“I’m gonna send it some ammo,” Keith says.

“Do you need a lift up there?” Lance points a finger to the sky where Zethrid and Ezor send cannon blasts into the fray that’s getting bigger by the second.

“No time. I’ll just shoot it myself.”

“You can  _ throw _ fire?” Lance asks, jaw barely off the ground.

Keith drops down into a steadier stance and summons two fistfuls of flames. “We’re about to find out,” he grunts.

A hand comes to his shoulder, followed by the sound of an unshaken voice.

“Focus.”

Keith kicks down his disappointment when the voice that comes to him is not Shiro’s, but Allura’s. He glances to her, and she nods resolutely. Her energy rolls into him in waves, similar to how he feels when surrounded by a cloud of her fog. She’s pushing power into him, stoking the fire at his core.

His hands feel heavier with the weight of the flames he carries. Adrenaline and something else course through him, and he wastes no more time in thrusting his hand toward the sky.

An arch of fire follows the trajectory of his arms. It streams as surely, fluidly as water from a hose, but absorbing light instead of reflecting it.

Keith hears Lotor give his command to Zethrid to fire his special gun. Up in front of the nose of the ship, the barrel of the cannon sizzles with energy. At first, it sputters, and Keith thinks they failed. But then, something like a burst of air—only something much more powerful—explodes from the gun and intercepts the ball of fire in its journey across the sky. The blast changes its course, sending it in a straight line toward the center of the emperor’s ship, only doubled in size and moving at the speed of a brakeless train. There’s so much fire, Keith can feel the warmth of it, even from the ground.

Everyone watches in dumbfounded joy as the fire blast connects with the wing of the towering ship in the middle of the formation. Black smoke rises from the damage, and it can’t be insubstantial. Even as the flanking craft start to fire alien bullets at Lotor’s ship in retaliation, it feels like a win.

“Excellent,” Lotor hisses, a bloodthirsty grin splitting his face. “Again.”

Keith replants his feet in the sand, and with the assurance of Allura’s touch on his shoulder, he summons another fireball. This one, he plans to maintain as long as his stamina will last.

With sweat and the sun bearing down on the back of his neck, Keith raises his arms as gives all he has.

Lotor’s special cannon eats up the fire like its dying for fuel. His muscles ache with the force it requires of them. He hears the following explosions before he can find the energy to turn his head and see the hole they’ve blown into the reinforcements. The column of flames completely eclipses the sun. For a second, it’s like Keith has created his own sun. Satisfaction pads the exertion, but it doesn’t quell it. Keith’s knees buckle before he’s finished, but he has to let up the fire to use his hands to catch himself before he faceplants into the dirt.

Allura saves him before he inhales too much sand. A few coughs, and his body slumps heavily into the gentle hands holding him up.

“That was brilliant,” Allura tells him. “But you must be careful.”

“Let me do it again.” Even Keith doesn’t believe Keith, not with how weak his voice croaks out.

“You’ve done so much already.” Allura rights him so he sits comfortably on the ground. Fingers brush the hair away from his eyes. “I can help replenish your strength.”

Matt comes up, panting gently. He has what looks like the Galran equivalent of a rifle in one hand, a long staff strapped to his back. “They’re coming out on foot now. We can hold them off until you’re both ready to rejoin us.”

“Allura, you should go help them.” Keith’s fingers wrap around her wrist as he tries to push her away.

“I should help you first,” she refuses stubbornly. “The others are strong enough to fend for themselves for a few minutes.”

She and Matt exchange a nod, and Matt jogs off to rejoin to group. Keith sees through the wavy yellow haze that surrounds them as his friends line up together and ready their weapons. Lotor leads the pack with a long, deadly sword that has to be as tall as Pidge. Even Kosmo stands with them, eyes fixed on the enemy ahead of them. Above, Lotor’s ship has started training its firepower to the ground. Keith returns his gaze to Allura with a frown.

“We still haven’t heard from Shiro,” he says.

“I know.” Her expression mirrors his. She looks like she wants to say more about it, but all that comes out of her mouth is, “Now hold still.”

A cool palm cups over Keith’s forehead. He watches Allura’s eyes fall closed, and his do the same. He can’t see, but he can feel the fog leaking from her and reaching out to him. It cloaks them both, buffering the noise and the heat around them like a soundproof blanket. Immediately, Keith’s joints and muscles feel revitalized. Breathing comes easier for him, and a wash of calm rushes into him. He opens his eyes a new man.

“Does that make you feel drained at all?” he asks, hoping it’s not the case. If Allura has a limited supply of her gift, the guilt that she wasted it on him would creep up on him.

But she just smiles. “No.”

Somewhere, the fighting starts. Gunshots echo across the sand, and both Keith and Allura’s heads turn in the direction of the noise.

“We need to move,” Keith says.

“Couldn’t agree more.”

They scramble to their feet and dash off toward the sound. White smoke trails Allura as they run, a mobile, fluid suit of armor that makes Keith feel safe and that maybe they can win this.

Lotor sends a gust of wind at the line of troops marching with guns drawn. The breeze picks up the sand and sends it flying at the Galra, who are momentarily blinded and surprised by the attack. Some of them break formation to aim their guns, firing in the angry hope to land a few shots on the Alteans.

Keith is still too far back to do anything about it, but he watches in amazement as Lance and Kosmo pick up anyone standing close to them and disappear from the bullets’ vicinity. Hunk and Matt remain in sight, and Keith’s stomach crawls up in his throat when Hunk jumps in front of Matt just before the first wave of shots reach them.

Metal bullets bounce off Hunk’s skin like rubber bands. He stands with his eyes squeezed shut, back toward the Galra to take the brunt of the attack. His hands rest on Matt’s shoulders, holding him in place for safety, his eyes wide.

Hunk’s gift is its own suit of armor.

By the time Keith and Allura catch up, they’re panting, and the shots have ceased for the moment. Lance and Kosmo reappear with the rest of everyone, now safe.

“Lotor,” Allura says. “I need wind. I can blind them when my gift touches them.”

Lotor nods and raises his hand, ready for Allura’s signal. Allura stands tall and summons the dense mist. She lets it accumulate around them, expanding in diameter until she finally nods to Lotor. The burst of air he sends away picks up the white mist and carries it over the desert.

For a moment, the Galran troops look as if they are only mildly irritated by the fog. But as it starts to filter into their suits and helmets, infecting the filtered air they breathe, Allura’s poison starts to take effect. As they start to slowly choke, some of them take off their helmets in a vain attempt to get the poison out of their lungs. Keith sees their ugly faces and can’t bring himself to feel bad for them.

While they’re distracted, Allura turns to the team.

“Now we can advance on them. We should split up and hit different points, taking out any weapons we find. Our target is the emperor.”

“Lance and I can infiltrate the ships and shut them down,” Pidge suggests.

“Good,” Allura says. “That way they won’t be able to retreat.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Lotor adds. “The Galra never retreat.”

“Then how do you suppose we get the emperor out of hiding?” Keith asks.

Lotor’s eyes train on him, heavy and serious. “We must get his attention. Kill as many of his men as it takes to get him to come out and face me.”

“I thought you said you wanted to lead the Galra into an era of peace,” Lance points out. “Killing all of them will make that kind of hard.”

“If it’s what must be done…” Allura starts, and she doesn’t have to finish.

Lotor gives a resolute nod and turns his head toward the wall of white at the base of the Galra ships. To the communicator, he says, “Ezor, we are moving in. Keep your eyes on the ships, and make sure they don’t try to evade us.”

Ezor chirps her response in the mic, and the ship above them starts to slowly creep across the sky.

Keith meets Krolia’s eyes. “What are you going to do?”

“What I always do,” she answers him. “Stay with you and make sure you don’t get yourself into trouble.”

They both smile at that, and with a confidence that tempers his adrenaline, Keith sets his shoulders and sparks fire in his hands.

Pidge grabs Lance’s arm, and just before they disappear, she smirks and says, “See you guys on the other side.”

They’re gone in a flash, and those left on the ground head off in a line toward where the fog is the thickest.

Keith can see just fine in the mist. Thanks to Allura, what is detrimental to the Galra is also helpful to the Alteans. They sneak up to blur the line between the ‘us’ and the ‘them.’ Lotor and Krolia, with their swords, pick off any Galra who survived the initial poisonous air.

They come up underneath the belly of the biggest ship, settled on four massive legs.

“The emperor will be sitting just inside there.” Lotor points upward, to the apex of the ship’s landing gear. “If he’s not already dressed for battle, he will be soon.”

Keith raises a fire-covered fist. “Should we knock and see if anyone’s home?”

“Be careful,” Krolia warns. But no one stops him from punching upward and throwing a column of flames into where the hatch of the ship is.

The metal smolders and sizzles, warping from the intense heat. The doors melt open, Keith realizes with a rush of excitement. Well, if the emperor won’t come out, at least they have a way to get  _ in _ .

But what’s on the other side of the door is not what any of them expect.

A cylindrical metal structure, one big enough to constitute the size and shape of a small skyscraper, falls from the opening and plummets into the ground. Without the help of Lance or Kosmo’s teleportation, they have to scramble to get out of the way before they’re crushed.

The structure lands with such a thud that its bottom half buries itself in the sand. Dirt explodes from the impact, covering Keith and the others and getting into their eyes.

Groans and coughs sound from the group, letting Keith know that everyone made it. Lotor kicks up a breeze to clean most of the sand from their faces and clothes. Keith knows from experience that it’ll take a month to get the finer particles from his underwear and socks.

“What the hell is that thing?” he asks, throat scratchy.

“Another robot?” Hunk asks, the fear prominent in his tone.

“A robot, I doubt,” Lotor says, getting to his feet. “But an experiment, most definitely.”

Hunk makes a sound of apprehension. “What does that mean?” For all they know, it could turn out to be  _ worse _ than a robot.

Over the comms, Ezor notifies the prince. “Reinforcements from the surrounding ships headed your way, sir.”

“Take care of them, will you?” Lotor responds.

“Already on it!” Zethrid hollers with joy, seconds before a shower of laser blasts shoots from Lotor’s ship and into the adjacent ships. Her manic laughter is almost louder than the gun she’s using. At least someone is having the time of her life during this fight.

The team on the ground has bigger things to worry about, namely the  _ thing _ that just landed next to them, which just started charging up like a canon. Rows of purple lights stretch down the shaft of the structure, growing brighter as whatever is powering it whirs to life.

“Oh no,” Lotor says, and that can’t be good.

“What?” Keith asks.

“Remember what I said about the Galra seeking to build the greatest weapons, even at the cost of a planet’s lifeforce?” The sentiment rings a bell, though Keith doesn’t really understand it. “This is one of the generators that steals a planet’s essence for power.”

“So it’s not a robot?” Hunk asks. “Or a weapon?”

“No,” Lotor says grimly. “But it’s used to charge a weapon. And judging from the size of this one, it is a devastatingly massive one.”

“Sir!” Ezor says again, this time her voice squeaky and panicked. “It appears the emperor’s ship is charging a huge cannon!”

“We are aware,” Lotor says. “We’re underneath the ship right now, so we should be safe. If my memory serves correctly, the cannon isn’t designed to shoot straight down.”

“It’s not aiming for you! It’s pointing at that big building in the distance!”

Keith’s stomach drops to the core of the planet.

“The Garrison,” he pushes out. “Shiro’s in there!” Shiro, the only one of them who can actually die right now. The only one who’s vulnerable, who doesn’t know the building he’s in is a target right now, who’s too far away for Keith to protect.

“Shoot the cannon,” Lotor orders.

Blasts from his ship ricochet off the reinforced metal. Whatever damage they do, it’s minimal, and it does nothing to stop the structure in the ground from charging it up even more.

Keith punches the metal wall out of frustration. The impact stings his knuckles, and the flames on his hand make the surface hiss. But still, it’s not significant enough to affect something of such giant proportions.

“Can’t you do something about it?” Keith nearly begs Lotor. “You’re connected to the planet’s essence too!”

“I can’t do anything against an inorganic weapon.”

Keith bangs his fist against the wall again, overwhelmed. His mind races with his depressingly limited options. He thinks maybe he can whistle for Kosmo, maybe get teleported to the Garrison to try and save his friends. But as the seconds tick away, the buzzing machine next to them gets louder and louder.

Hanging his head, Keith squeezes his eyes shut and prays that maybe Shiro isn’t in the Garrison building anymore. Maybe he’s in the bunkers with the humans. Maybe he’s already on his way back and out of the detonation zone. But, also. Maybe Keith will never see him again. Not if that cannon goes off.

What gets his eyes open again is a sound. The sound of something he shouldn’t be hearing in the middle of the desert. A bubbling, like a stream, comes from below him, and Keith’s eyes fly open. Where the machine meets the sand is a dark spot of expanding water, spreading out and saturating the dirt at their feet. Keith takes a step back, but it keeps coming, regurgitated from seemingly nowhere.

“Where is that coming from?” Lotor asks.

“The generator must have penetrated a pocket of groundwater,” Matt guesses.

Keith quells the fire on his hands and reaches down to drag his fingers through the growing puddle. “Water.”

“Keith,” Krolia says. “Water.”

Keith takes in a sharp breath through his nose. He stands himself back up, taking the water with him. It flows like a ribbon wherever he commands it, and it soothes and cools the fear that settled in his heart.

“I can try and corrupt the machine,” he says. Hopefully speaking it to life will make it so.

He takes another breath, this time to calm himself. He focuses on the water in his hand and tries to imagine how Shiro would do it. Shiro would listen to his gift and let it be his eyes, an extension of himself, like how he can read metal structures without having to open his eyes. So Keith does the same. He can feel the pool of water, stagnant just below ground. He can feel the base of the machine that’s drowning in it, and when he pictures the water crawling up inside the tunnel of the generator like a reverse waterfall, that’s exactly what it does.

Inside the machine, Keith detects some sort of chamber with charged air. It sizzles, and Keith remembers how water is an excellent conductor of electricity.

“Lotor,” he says, opening his eyes to find the prince already watching him. “Can you help me?”

The half Altean prince glances at the water that’s now covering their shoes. He presses his palm to the side of the generator, feeling what Keith feels, and he nods.

“Let’s fill her up.”

Together, Keith and Lotor force as much water into the chamber as they can manage. At first, only the two of them can feel the effect it has on the generator, the pressure building as the pockets inside of it get backed up with more and more water. But soon the whole thing starts to vibrate. A loud, metallic groan comes from the ship above as the cannon tries to fire but can’t.

“It’s working,” Krolia says.

“What’s working?” comes Lance’s voice, out of the blue. He and Pidge pop back to the group, presumably because their mission of crippling the other ships is complete. “ _ Whoa _ , what is that??”

“Lance, get everyone out of here,” Keith says. As the pressure inside the generator increases, Keith can feel it in his hands and bones. It went from lifting a feather to lifting an entire fucking boulder. “This thing can pop any second.”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” Krolia says.

“I can’t let you get hurt.” Keith throws a glance over his shoulder. His mom stands by him, blurry as using so much of his gift weakens him. “I’ll be fine.”

“We’re staying.” It’s Allura who refuses this time.

Keith drops his head again, lacking the strength to keep up his glare. He can hold it together, just long enough to get rid of this stupid elemental weapon or whatever Lotor called it. He won’t die from this. He can do this much for Shiro.

Allura settles a hand on his and Lotor’s shoulders. “We are a team,” she reminds him as her gift breathes new vitality into them. She sends power pulsing through them, and with the extra surge Allura gives, the water from underground comes springing forth like a geyser. The machine releases a moan from the pressure. Popping sounds echo throughout the structure, and at some of the seams, water starts sprouting out, paralyzing the machine.

A loud boom sounds from the distance, followed by an explosion overhead.

The barrel of the emperor’s cannon falls and crashes into the ground, smoking at the point where it was severed from the rest of the ship.

Keith lets go of the generator and catches his breath. Lotor does the same, and any water left in the air comes raining down on them, sloshing on the ground and reabsorbed by the sand.

“Did we do that?” Keith asks.

“We stopped it from firing,” Lotor says, eyebrows drawn together in suspicion. “But we couldn’t have severed the cannon from the ship.”

Keith glances over at Lance and Pidge. Pidge shrugs. “Wasn’t us.”

“Zethrid,” Lotor speaks into the mic, “did you disable the cannon?”

“No, sir,” she answers. “It came from the approaching vessel to the southeast.”

If it wasn’t any of them, then it must have been…

Keith runs as fast as his legs can carry him, needing to get away from the dust and the fog and the debris as quickly as possible. He needs to see what Zethrid sees. He needs to confirm it with his own eyes.

He stops a distance away from the warzone, chest heaving. There, crawling across the sand like Goliath about to meet David, is a Galaxy Garrison tank with its gun trained at the emperor’s ship.

“Shiro,” Keith rasps into his mic. “Shiro, is that you?”

“It’s me, Keith.”

Keith’s heart sings in relief at the sound of Shiro’s voice in his ear. He sinks to his knees, relieved of the weight of worry, or no longer having to fear if he’d ever hear Shiro’s voice again.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he says, softly, just for Shiro, even though he knows everyone else can hear him over the comms.

He can hear the smile when Shiro answers. “Thanks for that save. We wouldn’t have had enough time to get the tank ready if you hadn’t held off the generator for as long as you have.”

“We?” Keith asks.

“You remember Commander Iverson, right?”

Before Keith can answer, he hears the voice of his old drill professor barking at him from over Shiro’s communicator. “Cadet! We’re going to have a talk about ditching class when this is all over. But first, we have some ugly-ass aliens to kill!”

From what Keith can tell, Acxa clears her throat in dissatisfaction over Iverson’s choice of words.

“Er, apologies, Miss,” Iverson corrects himself. “I didn’t mean all aliens.”

“Just wait till you see Prince Lotor,” Lance says over the comms. “You won’t think they’re ugly after you see him.”

“Did you just call Lotor attractive?” Veronica asks.

“I clearly did not!” Lance squawks.

“We have more important things to worry about,” Lotor interrupts, apparently immune to the fact that the conversation is about him. “The emperor is emerging.”

“We’re all together now. He won’t stand a chance against us,” Allura says.

“Leave him to me,” Lotor says. “He is my problem to snuff out.”

“Can you do it alone?” Allura asks, unsure of him.

“I can,” Lotor promises. “Because I must.”

“Let him,” Lance interjects. “I’m all battled out. I need like, at least ten minutes to recover from all that winning me and Pidge just did.”

“We will be here for you when you need us,” Allura tells Lotor.

“Thank you,” the prince answers, “but this is my fight to win.”

Iverson speaks again, addressing Lotor. “The Galaxy Garrison stands with you too. Which is something I never thought I’d get to say to an alien. But your friends here tell me you want to protect this planet, so we have something in common.”

“I wish to protect all planets,” Lotor says.

Deciding to not be left out in the open when the shooting starts, Keith calls Kosmo. The dog appears in front of him, tail happy and wagging. Keith strokes his head and asks for a ride to the Garrison tank. When Keith blinks again, he finds himself in a cramped vehicle with a low ceiling and dim lighting. Screens in front of the two Garrison drivers show the terrain outside of the tank, with radars and scanners pinging the location of all parties involved: the Alteans, Lotor’s ship, the damaged cannon, and a moving speck that descends from the main ship and onto open ground. That must be the emperor.

“Keith.”

Keith’s head whips around, and he sees Shiro standing there.

His feet move on instinct, and he falls into Shiro’s arms like he’s meant to be there. Shiro squeezes him tight, reminding both of them that the other is there. Keith fists the material at the back of Shiro’s shirt, which he realizes belatedly that he’s wearing his old Garrison uniform. But for now, his face buries itself in Shiro’s shoulder, and he breathes him in.

“You’ve been separated for an hour,” Romelle groans, and it’s actually kind of funny, being reminded of the time.

To Keith, he’s been missing Shiro for a lifetime.

When they pull apart, Shiro’s wearing a fond smile. His hand comes up and brushes through Keith’s damp, sand-filled hair.

“You look terrible.”

“It’s kind of been hell,” Keith defends. “Did you get everyone to safety?”

“We were going to,” Shiro says. “I went to Iverson first to explain the situation. I introduced him to Acxa, and we told him why we needed to get everyone underground as quickly as possible. But as soon as the higher-ups heard there was a fight to defend Planet Earth, they refused to be sidelined.”

“I don’t care where you come from or what power you have,” Iverson jumps in, “if you come to my house and start threatening my students, you’re gonna have one hell of a fight.”

“I should have known,” Keith says, grinning.

“We would have been seriously out-gunned if it wasn’t for your friend here, though.” He gestures to Shiro.

Shiro gives a modest shrug. “I tweaked the tank’s systems a little. So we could keep up with Galran tech.”

“Shirogane is one gifted engineer,” Iverson says.

Keith snorts. “Does he know?”

“He knows.” Shiro nods. “He saw me in action as I modified the tank’s engine and suspension.”

“We also caught a glimpse of you in action with our long-distance security system,” Iverson says to Keith. “Watching you shoot fire into the sky was the last thing I needed to believe that maybe what Shirogane was telling me about aliens and superpowers was true.”

“Glad to have you on our side,” Keith says.

“Commander,” says one of the drivers. “Hostiles detected.”

Iverson turns his attention to the monitors. There aren’t many Galra left, but the ones that remain have turned their attention to the oncoming tank. Their bullets deflect off the tank’s armor like nothing as the Galra slowly march toward them.

“Let’s show ‘em what we got.” Iverson clicks a few things on one of the screens. The inside of the tank hums with pressure until he gives the order, and Keith has to grab Shiro’s arm to stay upright as their own cannon fires with a ferocity that could have knocked Keith on his ass.

Ahead of them, the blast catches the ground in the center of the encroaching enemy, which explodes like a landmine and takes out most of the Galra in one go.

“A few tweaks, huh?” Keith says, looking at Shiro. He gets another shy shrug in response.

Keith returns his gaze to the front, where the “window” shows the battle in real time. He recognizes a shimmering blue dome as Lance’s force field with little figures inside that must be the rest of his team. In the middle of the fray, two purplish blurs dance around each other as Lotor battles his father, sword to sword. Seeing Lotor fight like that amazes Keith. He’s quick on his feet, dexterous with the weapon and calm where it seems like the emperor is losing himself to rage.

Speaking of, the emperor is huge. Keith is used to the Galra being big, but his figure looms over the already tall Lotor, massive enough to leave Lotor completely in his shadow. His bulky armor only adds to his intimidating size, but where the emperor has the advantage of muscle, Lotor more than makes up for in speed and smarts. It doesn’t look like he’s even using his gift. Keith knew Lotor had a personal vendetta against his father, something that probably went much deeper than he explained to the Alteans, but there must be something symbolic about the fact that Lotor wants to defeat him without using the greatest asset he has.

He’s transfixed on the fight. Even above them, where Zethrid and Ezor pilot perhaps the most valuable weapon any of them have, they do nothing. The ship floats silently over the battle, ready for backup but clearly not needing to provide it.

Shiro’s hand slips into Keith’s and squeezes.

Everyone takes a physical and spiritual step toward the screen, toward the most important showdown of this planet’s fate, and they watch in silence as the Galran emperor falls.


	15. Chapter 15

Walking through the corridors of the Garrison, Keith feels years younger.

It’s mostly dark and empty, but the sound of chatter and laughter coming from the end of the hall guides him to where he needs to be.

He straightens out the sport jacket on loan from one of the professors of the school. It’s a stylish, fiery red that dresses him up enough to distract from his plain black shirt and pants. Kosmo trots next to him, unaware of how snazzy he looks in that bright blue bow tie.

He comes up on the double doors that lead to the ballroom—the room that’s only used during rare fancy events such as this one, but they figured that saving the entire human and Altean race was worth dusting off the banquet tables and popping open a few bottles of champagne. Glittery light and jazzy music flow through the slightly cracked doors. Keith pokes his head in, then quietly slips inside.

The room is abuzz with people mingling. He sees familiar faces—his newfound family dispersed among old friends and teachers from his life before the adventure began. He sees their Galran allies, sticking out like sore thumbs because of their size and skin color, but they look like they’re having the time of their lives. Lotor and his companions have also dressed up, and Keith must admit, a suit of black cotton with a dark purple tie looks much better on Lotor than a suit of armor.

In the middle of the room, Keith spots the man who sets his heart on fire, who populates his universe with galaxies.

Unable to stop the grin from splitting his face, Keith excuses himself through the crowd to get to Shiro, who’s happily talking with some of his old colleagues. He slides easily into Shiro’s arm, and Shiro leans down to kiss his cheek, right next to his ear.

“Hey,” Shiro says.

“Hey,” Keith answers.

“I was just telling these guys here about how I’ve never seen the Garrison splurge on a party like this before.”

Keith slides his arm around Shiro’s middle, basking in his warmth, in the fact that he’s here and safe and his forever. “It’s kind of important, what we’ve done for the planet,” Keith says.

Shiro hums. Keith can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Yes, please. I need to catch up with you, apparently.”

Chuckling, Shiro slips away from Keith to go find him something, leaving Keith with the friends whose names he’s vaguely aware of.

“So is it true?” one of the guys asks, eyes bright.

“Is what true?” Keith counters, totally prepared for this dude to ask if he really is sleeping with Takashi Shirogane.

“That you can control fire and water?”

A grin of pride eases onto Keith’s face, and his posture relaxes a little. He won’t let it get to him how this guy’s voice is drenched in hero worship. “I mean, I’m sure you saw the security footage from the fight.”

He shakes his head. “We don’t have a high enough clearance to see it. But it’s all anyone on campus is talking about.”

Keith allows himself to imagine it, how the whole school has learned about his heritage, about the other Alteans. How, maybe, the humans think he’s cool now, or a hero, or someone to look up to. And he never thought he’d know in his lifetime what that feels like. And it feels kinda nice.

Shiro returns with a glass of champagne for Keith that matches his own.

“Well, I don’t want to start a scene by lighting something on fire, but…” He trails off as he takes the glass in one hand, satisfied by the look of hope on the two men’s faces. So he leans in close like it’s some big secret and holds out his free hand. He covers his first two fingertips in candle-like flames, but just that alone is enough to pull gasps of awe from their friends’ mouths.

“Already showing off?” Shiro asks.

Keith takes a sip of his drink, realizing in that moment that this is the first time he’s ever had alcohol. He wonders what his tolerance is, and how his Altean biology reacts to the substance. Shiro seems fine, so it must not be a huge deal. “They wanted to see,” he replies casually.

As it turns out, a lot of the humans are eager to see their powers in action. Keith and Shiro make their way around the room, introducing themselves to people and accepting thanks for saving the planet from complete strangers. Like they don’t know that Keith and the rest of the team didn’t really have a choice, that it went much deeper than just protecting the planet. But it’s not something they need to know, because they’re all just happy that Earth’s first contact with an alien species is a friendly, superpowered one with a good moral compass.

Kosmo steals the show when Keith tells him to show off his talent to everyone. He and Lance make a game of it, popping around the crowd and trying to catch each other. As the minutes tick by, the champagne starts to bubble its way into Keith’s bloodstream, making everything gold and fuzzy around the edges. For the first time in, what, his entire life? Keith feels completely at ease.

Iverson gives a speech at one point. It’s overly heartfelt and more comical than serious—because he’s had a few of his own drinks. He invites Shiro up to the mic to deliver a few inspiring words. He wins the whole room when he says the Galaxy Garrison will always be like a home to him. Lotor also takes the opportunity for his own speech, promising with the constitution of a real leader that he will usher the Galran race into an era of peace and spearhead the movement of intergalactic environment consciousness. Everyone raises their glasses to his words, and the music turns up to a volume that pounds pleasantly against Keith’s padded senses.

Shiro finds his way back to Keith after the speeches, face adorably flushed and just the perfect shade of pink. His smile is radiant. He catches Keith at a good time, when he isn’t in the middle of a conversation with anyone. So Shiro gives him a special look that makes Keith feel warm all over. All he does is angle his head toward the door, and Keith is nodding yes please and pulling Shiro by the arm away from the party and back into empty halls. They’re gone so quickly that not even Kosmo notices them leaving.

Shiro steers them through a few turns, and Keith realizes with a buzz where they’re heading.

They reach Shiro’s old dorm room, and he wastes no time in sliding the door open and pulling Keith inside. Keith catches a brief glance around the room. It looks just like it did before they left, just like the times Keith would meet Shiro in here to work on homework or just hang out between classes.

Shiro eclipses his view when he traps Keith against the door as soon as it closes. Their lips meet, hungry and longing, and Keith hums in want of so many things at the same time.

“They gave you your old room?” he asks between kisses, arms up around Shiro’s neck.

It takes Shiro a minute to answer, mouth too busy. “It was always mine. They never gave it away.”

“Feels like years since we’ve been in here.”

“May as well have been.” Shiro switches from kissing Keith’s mouth to his jaw and neck.

Keith turns his bleary eyes up to the ceiling as Shiro sucks a love bite into his skin, unable to stop the gasp that escapes him. Every touch feels heightened and heavy. The scent of Shiro is strong around him, and Keith wants to drown in it. He’s already thirsting to get closer, to feel Shiro under his hands. So he moves his arms to do just that, dragging his palms down Shiro’s back until he can grab a handful of his ass.

Shiro hums and pushes into Keith’s groping. Keith pulls him forward roughly, and their hips collide together and add to the mounting heat between their bodies. Shiro detaches from Keith’s neck to release a fuller moan.

Keith turns his head into Shiro and places random kisses where he can reach on his ear and cheek. “Take your clothes off.”

He’s patient long enough for Shiro to undo the front of his slacks before Keith shoves his hands down the back of his pants. Shiro chuckles against their kiss at Keith’s inability to wait, but he wiggles out of his pants to appease him. In a flash, Shiro separates from him to pull the shirt over his head, and just like that, he’s standing there in just his underwear, ready for Keith to put his hands and mouth all over.

Which Keith does, enthusiastically. He squeezes Shiro’s pecs with both hands as his tongue trails across his collarbone. He’s interrupted only by the chain that hangs around Shiro’s neck. Keith pulls back and eyes the necklace like it’s the first time he’s seeing it. The little Altean number one glitters in the low lighting. In Keith’s palm, the pendant feels heavy. The realization hits Keith suddenly, his chest tightening in a way that isn’t all bad. He holds the pendant in his fist and yanks hard enough to rip the necklace from Shiro’s body.

“What are you doing?” Shiro asks with no alarm in his voice.

“These numbers don’t define us anymore.” Keith drops the thing into the heap of Shiro’s clothes on the floor. He looks up at him, at what he’s always been so terrified of losing during the war. “We aren’t being hunted anymore. You aren’t Number One of Planet Altea. You’re just Shiro now.”

The corners of Shiro’s eyes crinkle from his warm smile. He tucks his fingers under the collar of Keith’s shirt and pulls out his own necklace. “That’s a pretty good feeling, isn’t it?” Shiro does the same and breaks the chain on Keith’s necklace. That one, too, falls to the floor, all but forgotten. “Just Keith.”

Keith stands up on his toes and murmurs, “I love you so much,” just before sealing his lips to Shiro’s. Two arms wrap tightly around his shoulders as they kiss deeply, reminding each other that there doesn’t have to be urgency, that they have all the time in the world. They don’t have to run from this spot ever again if they don’t want to.

“I love you, too,” Shiro whispers back, raspy, desperate. Keith’s hand goes to his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek, and he’s looking—just looking—for a beautiful moment at the man he will never lose. When they kiss again, Keith’s tongue slips into Shiro’s mouth to taste him.

Shiro goes to pull his underwear down, but Keith backs off with a wet puckering sound.

“Wait,” he pushes out, hands hastily going to pull off his borrowed blazer. “I _cannot_ get this dirty.”

It’s the only article of clothing that gets folded neatly and set on Shiro’s desk. Keith’s shirt and pants, however, unceremoniously join the rest on the floor. Shiro laughs lightly and shakes his head, both at Keith’s concern and the fact he discovers that Keith had decided to ditch underwear tonight. Keith thinks it was good planning on his part.

He pulls Shiro back in with hands on his hips. He learns that Shiro has succeeded in getting out of his briefs when their hips meet in the middle, skin on skin. Keith’s face warms at the sensation, and he quietly moans against Shiro’s mouth.

Fingers with a mind of their own trace down the swell of Shiro’s ass. They inch their way between his cheeks and brush against his entrance. Shiro sighs in bliss, trying to sway his hips back against Keith’s hand. Keith pulls him forward, though, forcing hot friction where they’ve both started to get hard.

“Do you have lube this time?” Keith asks breathily against Shiro’s spit-slicked lips.

“Check my desk drawer,” is Shiro’s answer.

Keith moves his hand away to give him a thorough smack before digging his nails into Shiro’s backside. “Get your ass on the bed.”

Shiro goes willingly, and Keith finds an inconspicuous clear bottle in the drawer where promised. He makes his way over to the bed, glancing up to see Shiro reclining back against the pillow. One knee is bent, his foot pressing into the mattress, while the other leg casually stretches out over the blanket. His dick, almost fully hard by now, rests against the valley of his defined abs.

God, he’s beautiful.

Keith scoots over to him on his knees and uncaps the bottle. “When was the last time you used this?”

Shiro doesn’t take even one second to answer. “That night I brought you groceries and went for a ride with you. I came back here and fingered myself thinking about your hands.”

“Fuck,” is all Keith can say to that, face turning red.

He pours some of the slick substance onto his fingers, which then dip low to rub and prod against Shiro’s hole.

“At the time, I never thought, ahh…” Shiro starts around the sensation of Keith teasing him, “that one day I’d get to find out what your hands feel like on me.” His ears and cheekbones are pink.

“You really thought about me like that?” Watching Shiro’s face, Keith sees his silent gasp when he sinks a finger into him.

Shiro’s head rests against the wall, breathing softly as he takes a second to adjust. “I thought about you all the time,” he confesses.

Keith can’t help but take a jab at him, but with no hard feelings. He’s smiling when he says, “And you still rejected me when I tried to get with you the first time?”

“It was hard for me to do,” Shiro defends. “But it was also stupid. I was scared of what could happen in the middle of a war, and how getting too attached to each other could only end badly. But, you know, looking back, I was already attached to you anyway. I’m sorry for—”

“Shh…” Keith leans in, laughing gently, and shuts Shiro up with a kiss.

Shiro angles his head to deepen the kiss immediately, and his moan is muffled when Keith gets a second finger into him. Keith sucks on his lower lip and lazily pumps his fingers in and out, reveling of the slide of Shiro’s body against his. He doesn’t miss the way Shiro’s eyebrows knit together in pleasure, nor the whine that inevitably works its way out of his throat. If he’s honest with himself, Keith feels the exact same way. Shiro’s body is so warm and tight around him that he could lose himself just thinking about sliding into him.

Shiro reaches up and buries his fingers in Keith’s hair, holding his head still as their kiss heats up and grows needy. They suck in hastened breaths of the damp air between their mouths. Once Keith establishes a rhythm with his one hand, the other searches blindly for Shiro’s cock, which he pumps at a slower pace than his fingers. Shiro sings for him, squirming for just the right angle and arching his back up into Keith’s fist. Keith gives him a squeeze and tries for a third finger.

Shiro plops his head back down to the pillow, chest rising and falling with his panting. He groans at the sensation of being stretched, and Keith feels hot from the sound.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” Shiro breathes. His nails scratch at the back of Keith’s neck, raising goosebumps on the skin. Keith wants to be scratched everywhere.

He eventually has to let go of Shiro’s cock to plant his hand onto the bed just to hold himself up. His hand thrusts repeatedly into Shiro’s ass, which wriggles down to meet him each time.

Keith might lose it when he feels a hand wrap around his dick and stroke him with a tight grip.

“Use the lube,” he manages, hips jerking forward on their own. The combination of Shiro’s touch and Keith’s fingers in his ass gives him a taste of what’s to come, leaving him dripping in need.

The touch leaves him briefly, but it soon returns with a slippery coating. Shiro’s palm is hot and glides easily over his skin. Keith curls his fingers.

“Oh, Keith…” Shiro’s voice sounds like it’s punched out of him. “C’mon, I’m ready…”

Keith would protest with the fact that they should take things slower, but the primal side of his brain is more in charge and telling him to get inside now or he just might die. So he pulls his fingers out, catching the way Shiro shudders, and sits up on his knees.

He’s rational enough to pause and drink in the sight of Shiro laid out before him. One of his arms is tossed over his head. The white hair of his bangs falls back, exposing his forehead and a few beads of sweat that have started to form. His chest heaves for breath, and Keith’s eyes make an easy trail down his torso, following the hard lines of his muscles. On his stomach, his cock leaks clear precome.

When he drags his eyes back up to Shiro’s face, Shiro is already watching him with a heavily lidded gaze. Keith wraps a hand around himself and strokes once to make sure he’s sufficiently coated. With his free hand, he traces his fingertips up Shiro’s inner thigh.

“Do my hands live up to your fantasies?” he can’t help but ask.

“You probably already know, but,” Shiro smiles, taking the last of Keith’s breath away, “you’re so much better.”

His legs fall open to accommodate Keith’s hips as he dips into Shiro. With one hand holding him steady—the other pressed into the mattress next to Shiro’s shoulder—Keith sinks into him. Doing this always feels like the first time, because the heat that Shiro’s body welcomes him with never ceases to amaze him. A moan drags out of Keith’s throat as his eyes involuntarily flutter closed. For a minute, he stays there, just feeling Shiro, feeling each time he moves, each time his heart beats.

“And I probably say this every time,” Keith starts, “but you feel so fucking good, Shiro.”

“I want to hear it every time,” Shiro confirms. He reaches up, pulls Keith down so they’re nose to nose, tasting the other’s breath. “I want to make you feel good.”

“I want to make _you_ feel good,” Keith retorts.

“I promise you are.” Shiro lifts his legs to wrap around Keith’s waist, squeezing him. “And you can move, by the way.”

Keith draws his hips back and relishes in the slow push back in all over again. Shiro groans through it, and his voice only increases in volume from there as Keith starts to thrust at a slow pace. He hisses at the drag of Shiro around his cock. His head hangs uselessly next to Shiro’s lips pressed close to his temple.

When he starts to find that sweet spot for both of them—just the right speed, the right angle—Shiro cups his face in both hands and draws him down for a kiss. This time it’s Shiro’s tongue that presses forward, and Keith responds by eagerly sucking on it as soon as it’s past his lips.

Keith drops a hand down to grab at Shiro’s thigh, holding it in place around him as he thrusts harder. Shiro breaks the kiss for a moan, which Keith answers with a similar sound as Shiro tightens around his cock. His fingers dig into the flesh, feeling the muscle quiver below his touch. Shiro’s own hands go to Keith’s back, and he gets what he wanted earlier when Shiro digs his nails into his skin. Keith arches when Shiro scratches him, grinding down into him. His hips snap forward, and he can feel where Shiro is hard and trapped between their stomachs.

“Keith…” Shiro pants when they break the kiss. His hands drag even lower, leaving red lines in their wake. His reach extends to Keith’s ass, which he grabs two handfuls of and uses to press Keith against him.

“Shiro,” Keith answers, peppering his face and neck with kisses.

“I won’t last much longer,” he admits.

“That’s fine,” Keith says with a kiss to his forehead. “Just tell me what you need.”

Shiro’s eyes lock onto Keith’s, hazy with want and with love. “I need more of you. Harder. Please, I want to feel you—feel you for days…”

“Mm, I can do that,” Keith barely gets out without moaning.

He plants his hand into the pillow next to Shiro’s head, fingers clutching the cushiony fabric as he picks up his pace even more. With Shiro’s encouraging hands on his ass, Keith slams into him hard enough for the bed to shake in its frame. Shiro’s eyes stay on Keith’s the entire time, but his mouth falls open to let out needy groans and half-spoken praise.

Soon, Shiro’s eyes have no choice but the slip closed as his orgasm inevitably reaches him. Keith loves being inside Shiro when he comes. He can feel his whole body shake with it, his heartbeat pulsing inside and out. Shiro paints his own chest with white drops of come, and with a final sigh of Keith’s name, his muscles are drained of tension.

“Now you,” Shiro says after the waves of climax ebb. “Like you mean it. And come inside me.”

Keith moans and drops his forehead onto Shiro’s. They pant together, Shiro watching his face even as Keith’s eyes squeeze shut from the building pleasure and pressure. Shiro—over sensitive but still getting fucked—makes small noises that may or may not be by his own choice. But they’re sweet to Keith’s ears, and he whimpers quietly in response. Shiro’s hands move up to his face, and he holds him like that as Keith spills everything into Shiro. After some weak twitches from his hips, he collapses onto Shiro and takes forever to catch his breath.

Shiro’s arms go around him, draped over his lower back. Keith noses into Shiro’s sweaty neck, content to fall asleep like this. Shiro seems like he doesn’t mind either, so they lie there for a long while until it’s too uncomfortable with their cooling come and sweat. Keith slips out with a grimace and sits up, pushing a hand through his hair.

“We need a long shower,” he says.

Shiro sits up next to him, leaves a tender kiss on his lips. “We also need to change the sheets. And to get back to that party before everyone realizes we’re gone.”

Keith groans and scrubs at his face. “I completely forgot about the party.”

Shiro laughs gently. “I did, too, for a while there. You are very good at preoccupying my mind with other things.”

“Can’t we just not go back? They won’t miss us.”

“The party is _for_ us. They’ll notice if One and Two are missing.”

“Hey.” Keith pouts. “Enough with the numbers.”

“It will take some getting used to. This whole freedom thing.”

It hits Keith like a punch in the chest. Freedom. It’s the kind of thing they’ve all been dreaming of, all been fighting for, and just like that, with the death of the emperor, they’re no longer on the run. The rest of their lives belong to them now, and they’re free to choose how they want to spend it. Keith has his whole future sitting there next to him.

He takes Shiro’s hand in his own, laces their fingers together.

“What do you think we’re doing tomorrow?”

…

It takes some time to clean up all the carnage. The Garrison takes care of all of it. The wreckage, the bodies, the weapons—they’re picked clean of the desert until there’s nothing of evidence besides some oddly shaped dents in the sand.

Someone brings Lotor something small wrapped in cloth. The Galran prince opens it, and his eyes shine with the reflection of a glittering Altean number on a pendant, tied up on a chain. It was found in the emperor’s ship, they tell Lotor. Lotor issues a soft thank you and closes the necklace in his fist.

The last of the war is locked away in the Garrison vaults, where they can be out of sight and forgotten.

The Alteans are called for a meeting with Iverson and the other important men and women of the facility. They talk about the obvious things, like the state of humankind and how they weren’t prepared to make contact with aliens.

Some of the generals argue about whether or not to tell the planet of the existence of extraterrestrial life. The people aren’t ready to learn about a war that went on right under their noses, involving individuals who are more powerful on their own than most weapons they can only dream of building. And the gifted Alteans can be a threat to humans. They’re dangerous because they’re powerful, and how do we know they won’t use that power against the inhabitants of Earth?

Allura politely reminds those generals that everyone in this room has had a life on Earth for at least the past two decades. The Alteans here are just as much citizens of the planet as anyone else. And that the Alteans are the ones who protected this facility from a threat the humans should have known about if they wanted to be able to protect themselves. That gets them to shut up about it for the rest of the meeting.

It’s Iverson who brings up space travel.

He gets up at the head of the table and says this is exactly what the Galaxy Garrison is all about. There are whole universes out there waiting to be explored. And here are a princess of one alien race and the prince of another, powerful allies to have on Earth’s side. The Alteans and Galra both need new homes. The Garrison can supply them with the craft they need, in exchange for Allura and Lotor’s guidance into realms otherwise unexplored by humans.

Keith thrums with the thought of it. Going back out there and finding somewhere they can all start over. Maybe they don’t need to settle down. Maybe they can travel the galaxies and spread their gifts—Lotor’s environmental technology—to people who might need them. There are endless places to discover in space, as many possibilities are there are stars in a desert sky.

A general interrupts. “But our craft aren’t equipped for travel like that. They physically can’t do it.”

Iverson seems to expect the question. He simply nods to where the Alteans are sitting, hands clasped together behind his back.

“We have a team of very fine engineers who know their way around alien tech to help us build  something to suit our needs. Shirogane can lead the engineering team on that.”

Shiro’s back straightens, and his eyes get big. “Me, sir?” His voice gives it away. He would love nothing more.

Keith grabs Shiro’s hand under the table and squeezes. He feels the smile creeping up on his lips, and he can’t do anything about it. The entire cosmos is there before them, waiting.

“Of course! You were the best we had, and I’m sure that little gift of yours will come in handy. Make the craft whatever you want them to be. Hell, they can be giant robotic cats for all I care.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for sticking with this story! i hope you enjoyed it as much as i loved writing it!
> 
> [as always, you can find me on tumblr](https://regiaam.tumblr.com/)


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